A Fool's Crime
by miladydeallseasons
Summary: Pieces of a Sith Warrior's life. Eventual QuinnxSW. A young Sith Warrior is determined to avenge her parents' murder at the hands of the Jedi. These are fragments of her journey. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

****_AN: Changed character's name, because her original one wasn't flowing the way I wanted. Apologies if it throws some of you off-it was really bugging me, though._

**Prologue**

They tell me I was born a Jedi, or rather, that both of my parents were.

My mother was beautiful. I have her face supposedly: small and delicate, with lips a little too big to be "pretty" in the ordinary sense. A kind face, everyone called it, although I suppose that view might be tainted by the speaker's knowledge of her personality. But I failed to inherit her eyes, brown and doe-like, and her smile, which I'm told was her most extraordinary feature. She was always smiling.

My father rarely smiled, and I suppose I must have inherited that from him. Serious, with a face simultaneously razor-sharp and weathered with years of thinking, always thinking. He had a keen mind and a keener tongue if the stories I'm told are any indication. That must have been what attracted my mother to him, for he wasn't a particularly handsome man apart from his flashing green eyes that frequently lit up with private sarcasm.

I know none of this first-hand, of course. Both of my parents died when I was very young. The Jedi killed them, slaughtered them for daring to love.

It was my birth that gave them away. They could only hide me, a force-sensitive child, for so long.

They didn't put up a fight, so I'm told. They simply stood there, looking into each other's' eyes as the lightsabers tore them to shreds in a blaze of blue and green.

It was a beggar who saved me—an old woman. My parents gave her every material possession they owned in exchange for a single promise: that she protect me. And she did. She stole me away and took me to Korriban, where I was taken in. The moment they saw me, they knew that I was strong with the Force.

They sent me away to be trained, and for nineteen years I have sweated and shed my blood working towards this day. Today I return to Korriban.

I am Ishtaa. I am Sith. I will destroy the Jedi for what they have done.

I will avenge my parents' love.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: These will eventually form some sort of coherent story-line, I hope, but I'm not going to write every scene in the entire game. I don't have that kind of patience, unfortunately. Some dialogue is invented, some dialogue is modified, many story elements are invented, but some of the dialogue is courtesy of Bio Ware. No copyright infringement intended. Reviews are always appreciated!**

**This first one might seem a little random. All will be explained.**

**Ishtaa**

**Dromund Kaas**

"You!"

The slave's words stopped her cold. Ishtaa froze, in the midst of carving her path of bloody destruction through the battlefield. Her scarlet blade trembled inches from the slave's throat.

"You? What do you mean _you_?"

The slave licked his lips, thin parched lines in a withered face. "It's you. You're the child. You're the impossible child"

Ishtaa gritted her teeth. She seized the man by his collar, hoisting him up off the ground by his neck. "Stop talking nonsense, old man. What do you mean I'm the impossible child? What are you talking about? Answer me!"

The slave choked and gagged, struggling to breath against Ishtaa's death grip. She dropped him to the ground unceremoniously, pressing the tip of her lightsaber against his throat.

"This is your last chance, slave," she hissed.

The old man didn't tremble. He simply laughed, a deathly quiet sound.

"I know…your face…You look…just like your mother."

Ishtaa snarled. With a sharp twist, she drove the blade through the old man's throat.

He was dead before her lightsaber even made contact.


	3. Chapter 3

**Quinn**

**Balmorra**

"I apologize, sir. It was the best I could do."

Quinn's lip curled. He lunged forward to grab the corporal by his collar, fury burning in his chest. "If that's your best, you're useless to me," he snarled. The corporal's eyes widened in terror, flitting around helplessly under Quinn's piercing glower. "I can shoot you dead with a clear conscience. Is that what you want?"

The blond man swallowed. "No, sir," he squeaked.

"Then focus, Jillins," Quinn snapped, shoving the corporal away from him. "Dismissed."

Quinn seethed silently as the corporal scampered away. Incompetence, that's what it was. Pure, unadulterated incompetence. Even the other officers were for the most part useless, always handing all but the most top secret tasks to him when they became too difficult. How the Empire was still standing with such lazy, stupid, morally flimsy buffoons was a mystery to him. He could only imagine that its ideals, pillars of order and security, were somehow holding it up despite a veritable sea of worthless peons.

He would have liked very much to have said more to Jillins regarding his lack of focus, but his attention was diverted by a figure at the door. His heart swelled with hope. Now _here_ was an individual worth his effort. He had heard much of the new Sith from Lord Baras: strong, skilled with a lightsaber, loyal—yet unafraid to voice dissent to his master on occasion, much to Baras' displeasure—tenacious, observant, cunning. Quinn could hardly wait to meet—

Her.

The Sith was a woman.

Quinn froze in astonishment. Somehow it had not occurred to him that Baras' talented apprentice could be a woman. More than that, he noticed as he sized her up with a once-over glance, she was—and he could hardly believe he was saying this—lovely.

His hopes wilted slightly. It wouldn't be the first time one of his superiors had made an error in judgment over an attractive female, choosing a pretty face over worthy talent. Perhaps this was more of the same.

Then again, he thought as he caught a glimpse of the apprentice's flashing green eyes, maybe not.

* * *

There was a tap on the door.

Quinn looked up from his datapad. "Enter."

"Sir." A red-haired corporal entered. "Captain Rigel reports that Operation Breaking Point is a success."

Quinn's eyebrows shot up. "Really? So soon?" He blinked several times, shaking his head. "Well," he said, puzzled, "that's excellent news. Send him my regards."

"Yes, sir."

Quinn was still frowning as he returned his attention to the datapad. Operation Breaking Point…a _success_? It had only been in effect for a few days.

Perhaps, he considered hopefully, the troops were finally becoming competent.

He had just begun to engross himself in his datapad when he heard another tap at the door.

He looked up, expecting the red-haired corporal to be back with some trivial nonsense about Operation Breaking Point. It was with great surprise that he saw a gawky, pink-faced private waiting to be heard.

"Sir." The private stood at attention.

"Yes, what do you want?" Quinn asked impatiently.

"Lieutenant Thorpe reports that his attempt to obtain cyborg technology from the resistance movement has been successful. Technicians are working to reconfigure the technology to the Empire's needs as we speak, sir."

"What?"

The private squirmed. "Lieutenant Thorpe—"

"I heard you the first time, private," Quinn said, holding up his hand for silence. "Tell Lieutenant Thorpe I have been informed of his progress, and I congratulate him on his efforts."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Quinn pursed his lips as the private left. Two successes in one day. In theory, he supposed, he ought to be thrilled with news that underlings were finally getting something accomplished. But coming from an Imperial base where one accomplished mission a month was considered a great success…

He was overthinking the matter. He knew he should be pleased that things were going so well.

Chiding himself for being petty, he returned to his datapad.

He was promptly interrupted by another knock at the door.

Looking up, he saw not one but _two_ men standing in the doorway.

He set his datapad down on the table with a thud. "Let me guess," he said sardonically, "you've come to tell me that Cavill Arin's anti-stealth endeavor is a success."

The two men glanced at each other.

"Er…no, sir."

"I've been sent to inform you that the Balmorran Arms Factory's security has been shut down and Defense Minister Vol Argen killed."

"And you?" Quinn gestured to the other man.

"I've just come from Lieutenant Treshoda's office, sir. She's been put in contact with a Balmorran turncoat."

"Turncoat? To our side, you mean?"

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Treshoda says he could provide valuable information."

Quinn frowned, rising from his desk.

"Wait here," he ordered.

The two men saluted him as he strode across the room. He turned the corner expecting to leave his office, but was caught off-guard by three more soldiers standing in the corridor. As he stood there in shock, a fourth one appeared.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

A fifth soldier, this one a woman, came into view. "Sir," she began.

"Alright, into my office," Quinn snapped. "All of you. Now. And stay put."

With a chorus of "yes, sirs," four of the soldiers obediently went into his office.

Quinn stormed out to find Imperial intelligence. It was a Republic plot, he was sure of it. A trap, to lure them into a false sense of security. There was no other explanation. The day's success rate defied statistical and common sense.

"Sir." The fifth soldier was at his heels, attempting to keep up.

"My office, corporal, that's an order."

"Sir," the woman persisted, "it's important."

Quinn crossed his arms. "This had best be urgent. Name?"

"Corporal Sharpe, sir. Captain Hooper wished to convey to you that he has seen your new colleague in action, and is very impressed."

"My what? New colleague? What are you—"

All at once, the pieces fell into place. The sudden successes, the wave of positive reports all across Balmorra. It was _her_.

He swallowed. "I see," he said grudgingly. "Dismissed."

He pressed his lips together in a thin line as he slowly returned to his office. This Sith was even greater than he had expected.

What was he saying? She had _shattered _his expectations. Utterly obliterated them.

He allowed himself a private smile. He supposed he would have to adjust his calculations. He had never been more pleased to be wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Very short, but this kept bugging me as I was playing the game.  
**

**Ishtaa**

**Balmorra**

As she left the house, it was all she could do not to turn around, lightsaber blazing, and kill the man inside.

Fool, she thought to herself. Fool.

For what other word could there be to describe someone who would marry a traitor?

Love. She scoffed. If the man honestly didn't know his wife would betray him, then he never loved her to begin with. And if he did…

Well, then, his love made him a traitor, if you could call feelings for someone so unworthy _love_.

Either way, it was a crime.

A fool's crime.


	5. Chapter 5

**Baras**

**Balmorra**

Baras clasped his hands behind his back as he paced his quarters in thought.

Things were going better than even he could have planned. True, it had been his intent all along that Quinn should join his apprentice's crew, but he had anticipated that some persuasion might be involved. Instead, Quinn had practically leapt at the chance to join the apprentice's company.

Perhaps he had foreseen his master's plans. Baras frequently employed his followers as spies; the lieutenant might have recognized Ishtaa as a valuable target. Such initiative would be a first, but within the realm of possibility. Quinn was a bright fellow—certainly he was much brighter than most of his Imperial comrades—and he was unfailingly loyal to Baras and the Empire.

Baras reached out with the Force curiously, searching for the signature that marked Quinn's mind. He sifted through the others—the Twi'lek's flittering, chattering bundle of emotion; the steady, pulsing halo of his apprentice.

There. He found it: a tightly wound sphere of focused energy. In another world, Baras mused, Quinn would have been at home among the Jedi. His emotions were skillfully veiled and suppressed; a lesser Sith might not have detected them at all.

But then, out of nowhere, they surged. Respect, admiration, dedication, attraction. Quinn's feelings exploded outwards like a shockwave.

Baras smirked. _Of course. _The man was smitten with Ishtaa.

This was better than Baras could have dreamed. It threw his previous plans out the window in the short term, but in the end, it would be the girl's destruction.

It was moments like these that Baras almost understood the Jedi code. Those light-sided fools might be naïve, but they were right to prohibit love. Love was dangerous. Love was a weapon, as easy to use for destruction as it was for creation.

After all, it was love that brought his apprentice here.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Quinn's actions after the battle might seem a little out of character. But I wanted to portray him as being a little less one-dimensional, not completely stoic all the time, and I thought that his comment to the Jedi (the snarky one) provided an interesting potential insight into his character. **

**Ishtaa**

**Fury**

"Come on," Vette whined, "let me shoot."

"Not yet," Ishtaa snapped. "I want the element of surprise."

The ship shuddered violently.

2V staggered into the compartment. "Master, I believe we are under attack."

"I've noticed," she replied acidly. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and eyed the battle for an opening.

The ship rattled as it took another hit.

"Can the element of surprise hurry up?" asked Vette, her voice rising in panic.

"Wait for her signal." Quinn glanced at Ishtaa in his peripheral vision. "Your master knows what she's doing."

Ishtaa smiled faintly. Quinn acknowledged the gesture with an almost imperceptible nod.

"There," he finally said to Vette, pointing. "Those turrets up ahead are doing the most damage. They must think we're no threat. They're focusing all of their fire on other targets."

"Their mistake, our victory. The plan is working." Ishtaa stood up and stepped down from the small podium where she sat, her eyes never leaving the battle as she moved to stand behind Vette. "Fire on the turrets. On my signal. Three…two…" She could almost read the text embossed on the side of the turret. "Now, Vette!"

Vette responded with a volley of blasts, leaving a trail of smoldering crater's in the Fury's wake. The strength of the explosions rocked the entire ship.

"That should cripple them."

"My lord, fighters coming in!"

His words were met with a flurry of incoming red blasts.

Ishtaa's eyes hardened. "Dance around them if you can," she ordered. "Vette, fire at will."

One by one, the fighters went up in flames.

"Damn," hissed Vette. "One got away."

"Pursue him."

Quinn looked up. "My lord, might I suggest a different tactic?"

"If you do so quickly."

"Tailing the pilot may, depending on his skill, take a long time and leave us open to attack. It would be much more efficient to go around and intercept him from the front."

She paused to consider. "Belay my last order. Steer to intercept."

"Yes, my lord."

Furrowing his brow in concentration, Quinn piloted the ship off-course to turn about and meet the fighter another way. Ishtaa crossed the cockpit and stood behind him, monitoring his progress.

A moment later, the Republic fighter reappeared in the Fury's view.

"Prepare a missile," Ishtaa ordered. "I want this skirmish to end with a bang."

"Yes, _sir_!"

The fighter made no attempt to flee.

Ishtaa frowned. "Why isn't he moving?"

"I calculated our angle of approach so that we would be in his blind spot, my lord. He doesn't see us."

"And he never will. Fire."

Vette gleefully pushed the red button. There was a short pause and then…

"By the Maker!"

The entire ship shook with the strength of the shockwaves. Ishtaa, caught off-guard by the intensity of the blast, stumbled forward. She might have fallen over if not for her quick reflexes and the chair in front of her. She braced herself against the chair back, digging her fingers in to compensate for the instability of her feet. It was only after she regained her balance that she noticed she was grabbing something warm.

"Sorry, Captain," she said, removing her hands from Quinn's shoulders immediately. She brushed off the front of her robes.

"No apology necessary." His voice sounded strained, Ishtaa thought. Probably he was trying to be polite, or else not let on that her grip had hurt. No matter; she hadn't grabbed him nearly hard enough to actually _injure _him.

"Vette, would you please go deal with 2V? He sounds like he's on the verge of a circuit breakdown."

"Yeah, sure." Rolling her eyes, Vette slouched off to the galley. Just before she left, she muttered under her breath: "Stupid droid."

Ishtaa sighed and, stretching, stumbled into the seat Vette had vacated. "Get us out of here, Captain."

"Right away, my lord." He pushed a few buttons and then, returning to the steering wheel, said, "You may want to hold on. With all the wreckage floating around, this could be a rough exit."

"Noted."

With a tiny lurch, the Fury began to move forward under Quinn's control.

Ishtaa breathed deeply and closed her eyes. Despite all the things Vette said about him whenever he was out of earshot (and, quite often, when he could hear her perfectly well) Ishtaa liked having Quinn in her crew. As much as she enjoyed the sisterly banter she shared with Vette, it was nice to have someone calm and stable on board. Sometimes, when the Twi'lek's chatter started pounding at her temples, she would retreat to the oasis of the bridge and do her work there. Quinn never disturbed her or commented on the matter. He did his work, and she did hers.

Opening her eyes slightly, she studied him in her peripheral vision. He was doing it again, she mentally noted with a smile. It was the face he made whenever he was concentrating on something. She had first picked up on it during one of her bridge work sessions, but as time went on she noticed that he often did it when he had to patch her up in the field. It wasn't an angry face, quite, or just a furrowed brow. It was a thinking face, and that was the only proper name she could conceive for it.

She started as the ship rolled to one side and turned upside down. Before she had time to properly process this fact, the ship had righted itself and Quinn made the jump into hyperspace.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Quinn's thinking face had disappeared and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

"Quinn?" she asked, bemused. "Was that…a barrel roll?"

He turned pink and his smile dropped. "Apologies, my lord. That was not entirely necessary."

"No, no. It's alright. Relax," she said, seeing the mixture of embarrassment and anxiety still written on his face. "I'm not going to force-choke you." She smiled, not mockingly, but with a hint of amused sarcasm. "It's just somewhat unusual, that's all. I didn't take you for one to do tricks."

"Of course, my lord." And then, as if the words were spilling forth of their own volition: "I sometimes like to revel in the aftermath of a victory." He clamped his mouth shut, reasserting control over the unbidden word vomit.

Ishtaa's smile softened, her sarcasm fading in favor of an understanding sympathy.

"I daresay you earned it," she said. "That was some of the finest piloting I've ever seen."

Quinn's blush deepened. It was a marvel his skin didn't catch fire. "Thank you, my lord."

"No need. I'm merely stating fact. You're an excellent pilot."

He made no reply.

They said nothing for several moments, but it was not the comfortable silence that usually inhabited the bridge. It was a strange, stiff silence full of uncertainty and impulse to speak, mingled with hesitance to go out on a limb.

It was Ishtaa who finally spoke.

"Why were you never promoted?"

Quinn grimaced. For the first time in the weeks she had known him, she sensed feelings radiating from him. They rolled out in waves, battering her with a sense of hatred and disgust.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Forget I said anything."

"No," he said hurriedly. "I must."

"That wasn't an order, Quinn," she said; from the look on his face, she knew that the intentional use of his surname was not lost on him. "It was an overly personal question. One you shouldn't feel obligated to answer if you do not wish to do so."

"Respectfully, my lord, I believe I am fully obligated to answer. Not," he added, sensing that she was about to disagree, "because you are my superior officer, but because you have put a great deal of faith in me. You deserve to know."

Ishtaa hesitated.

"Very well."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: If anyone reading this is a music geek, I'm dying to find the music that plays during the SW's first flirt option with Quinn ("I excite you" and so on). Really hope it's part of a larger track somewhere, not just a brief cue. Anyway, just PM me if you happen to know.**

**Sharack Breev**

**Tatooine**

Her heart stopped. It had been twenty-two years since she had seen such green eyes, and she had hoped never to see them again.

For a horrible moment, she panicked, thinking the Sith recognized her face. No, she thought. That would be impossible. The girl had been merely a baby when Sharack had taken her to Korriban.

She tried to push the thought from her mind. It was unlikely that the girl knew the truth. Ruminating would only stir her emotions, make the Sith more likely to sense her fear.

Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was recognition in the girl's face.


	8. Chapter 8

**Quinn**

**Tatooine**

With a growl, Ishtaa drove her lightsabers into the beast's belly. The thing gave a long, disgustingly moist dying sound as the Sith deluminated her sabers.

"I expected that to be a difficult fight."

She raised an eyebrow. "Against womp rats?" she scoffed. "Your lack of faith disturbs me." Her last comment might have been terrifying coming from the mouth of an ordinary Sith. But Quinn knew the face she put on too well to be concerned. She was teasing him again, that was all. Not terribly surprising, seeing as he had meant his initial comment to be taken with a hint of sarcasm—in compliance with her orders, of course; she _had _told him to loosen up.

He was about to make a pithy reply when a gash on Ishtaa's stomach stole his attention.

"You're injured."

"What?" She glanced down. "Oh, that's nothing," she said, brushing her fingers against the wound to heal it. "Just a minor flesh wound."

Quinn wasn't convinced. It wasn't deep, and the skin wove itself back together normally under Ishtaa's glowing red fingertips, but he caught the split second flinch that crossed her face as she made contact with the raw skin.

She glared at him when he began to pull out a medical probe. "I said I'm fine, Captain. No need to waste supplies."

"With all due respect, my lord, I don't believe ensuring your good health is a waste of anything."

"Forget it," she snapped. "That's an order."

"I—" He saw the steel in her eyes and knew that it was no use arguing. "Yes, my lord."

"Good. Now press on. We have a lot of ground to cover if we're to return to the ship before dark."

Quinn nodded mutely. He forced himself to push the conversation from his thoughts and focus on his duties. Intuition or not, his master was in all likelihood fine. _What's the worst that could happen?_

* * *

Ishtaa went out alone the next day to join a team of bounty hunters and imperial agents on an errand in the Dune Sea. Since there was no telling how long it would be until she finished the job, Quinn, Vette, and 2V settled in for a day off.

Anxious to take advantage of the peace and quiet (Vette was mercifully absent, amusing herself in the galley by attempting to teach 2V to cheat at Sabaac), Quinn dove into his private work the moment Ishtaa left. Apart from the momentary break he took to sneak past Vette (whose original lesson had branched out into Twi'lek and Huttese curse words) and get some food from the galley, he scarcely raised his eyes from his datapad all day—until his holo started beeping.

He immediately recognized the signature as his master's. He answered. "I take it your mission was successful, my lord."

It was then that he realized he was not speaking to Ishtaa, but to a helmet-clad bounty hunter.

"My name is Arewal Sim," the bounty hunter said, the vocal distortion of his helmet amplified by the holo. "Who is this?"

Quinn's voice hardened. "That's not important. The holo you're using belongs to a Sith apprentice. Where did you get it?"

The bounty hunter's image flickered before coming back into view. "I know who it belongs to, Imperial. We were working together until she fell—"

The bounty hunter kept speaking, but Quinn wasn't listening. It felt like all the air was being sucked from his lungs. He could hear it rushing, almost pounding in his eardrums.

"Is she alive?"

"Barely." The bounty hunter glanced at something Quinn couldn't see. Through the static, he could hear two other voices. "She's hanging on somehow, but if she doesn't get medical attention soon—"

"She will," Quinn said briskly. "Stay put."

"Roger that. You'd better hurry."

Quinn turned off the holo and bolted from the room.

Vette poked her head into the hall as he hurried past her. "What's going on?"

He paused in the doorway. "When I depart, set up the medical bay as well as you can. Get 2V to help you."

"What?"

He turned without answering and proceeded to gather up the various medical supplies strewn about his quarters, cramming them unceremoniously into the small box he usually carried.

"Quinn!" Vette scurried into his room, her lekku swishing about behind her. "What's going on?"

"Your master collapsed in the middle of her mission. She needs proper medical help."

Vette's eyes widened. "Ishtaa's hurt?! Oh my gods, is she okay?"

"Well, if she was, she wouldn't exactly need my help, would she?"

Vette ignored his sarcasm. She crossed her arms. "I'm going with you," she said stubbornly.

"No."

"Yes." She positioned herself in the doorway so Quinn could not get out.

"Absolutely not. Let me through."

"Let me go with you."

His scowl deepened. "I've already told you," he snapped, "_no_. You'll only get in my way if you come along—much like you are right now, I might point out. Now get out of my way or I will _make _you get out of the way."

"Not happening. If Ishtaa's in trouble, I'm coming with you."

Quinn gritted his teeth, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed.

"Alright. Don't make me regret this."

Vette grinned. "Atta boy—_sir_," she added hurriedly, seeing the look on his face. "Atta sir."

He tried not to roll his eyes. "2V!" he shouted.

"Yes, Captain!"

"Execute Special Order 46." Without waiting to hear the droid's reply, he strode from the room, with Vette close behind him.

He only hoped he was not too late.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: I noted this at the beginning of the story, but I have changed the main character's name. Apologies if this throws you off—the old one was really not working, though, didn't flow like I wanted.

**Ishtaa**

**Tatooine**

A blur of light.

A flash of color.

A voice, distant through her foggy mind.

"My lord—"

"Ishtaa! Ishtaa!"

Her head lolled to one side. She groaned indistinctly.

A hand on her forehead, cool and reassuring.

"Vette?" she mumbled. "Vette, is that you?"

A feminine sigh of relief replied.

The hand brushed down the side of her face, fingertips pushing her messy hair away.

"She's alive."

"She'll recover."

Too big to be Vette's hand.

A wave of pain in her head, pounding. A lash across her stomach.

She cried out.

The hand left her body.

Green lights flickering behind her eyelids.

Words in and out of hearing.

Pain. Shock. Sedatives. Take effect.

Nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

**INTERLUDE**

_Under Quinn and Vette's care, Ishtaa recovered from her illness. Embarrassed by what she perceived to be a display of weakness—particularly in front of the only two people whose opinions she ever truly cared about—she pressed on with renewed intensity. _

_After a long search, she finally located Master Yonlach amidst the sand dunes of Tatooine. Initially angered by Yonlach's incapacitation of Quinn and taken off-guard by his comments about his 'feelings' for her, she lashed out at the old man and his apprentice. Once they were at her mercy, however, she spared their lives._

_Ishtaa hurried to Alderaan where she met with the sleazy Duke Kendoh. Revolted by his bootlicking and lechery, she barely tolerated his presence, dealing instead with his Sith guard Fimmress whenever possible. When her business on Alderaan was finished, she discovered that Kendoh had attempted to pin one of his decisions upon her. Incensed, she ordered Fimmress to kill his former master._

_After departing from Alderaan, Ishtaa was contacted by Jaesa Wilsaam herself. The girl, having sensed her parents' change of loyalty to the Empire, decided that she was unwilling to put any more loved ones in harm's way. However, Nomen Karr interfered. An undeterred Ishtaa killed one of his Jedi and spared another before travelling to Hutta, where she met Nomen Karr face to face…_


	11. Chapter 11

**Ishtaa**

**Hutta**

Ishtaa sneered as she held the blade to Nomen Karr's neck.

She wanted to kill him.

It was men like him who had killed her parent: hypocrites, Jedi whose pretensions of peace were mere facades, suppressing the brutal beasts that lurked within. At least the Sith were honest about their vicious, power-hungry nature.

_I want to kill him. _The thought pounded in her skull. _I want to avenge my parents. _

Yet, as she stared down at him, his face glowing gold in the yellow light of her lightsaber, she felt the impulse wither and die.

She realized as she looked down the bridge of her nose at him, her stomach twisting with a mixture of pity and revulsion, that he was beneath her.

Her lip curled. She sheathed her lightsaber.

"You are despicable."

* * *

She could feel Quinn's gaze on the side of her face.

"If you have something to say, Captain, spit it out."

He glanced away, embarrassed.

"Sorry, my lord. It's just…I was merely wondering why you spared his life. His death would have drawn Jaesa just as well as his current, living anguish, if not more effectively."

Ishtaa gritted her teeth. There it was, out in the open. For a moment, she considered telling him all—her parents, the vendetta, everything. But then…She knew how he felt about letting emotions cloud one's judgment.

"There was no need," she said finally. "He was at my mercy."

She swallowed, debating whether or not she should say more.

Quinn was quiet when he spoke again. He lowered his eyes seriously. "You didn't wish to sink to his level." It was not a question.

Ishtaa turned to look at Quinn. Force-insensitive or no, Quinn was one of the most perceptive people she had ever met. He knew. Somehow, without her telling him, he had her all figured out.

Quinn, noticing her lack of a response, raised his eyes to meet hers. She felt once more compelled to reveal everything, to tell him the story from the beginning. But there was no need. He already, in his own peculiar, analytical way, knew.

"Yes," she answered simply.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: My version of Jaesa's conversion is a bit different from the game. Quinn and the guards are out of the room taking care of other matters (so they don't hear the whole 'light side' thing) and Jaesa doesn't read Ishtaa's nature until after they fight. **

**Hutta**

Ishtaa's bright green eyes went wide, her cheeks turning pale. "No," she said forcefully. "Jaesa, don't you dare—"

Ignoring her, Jaesa closed her eyes and reached out.

Almost immediately, she recoiled, taken aback by the immense strength of Ishtaa's signature. The Force rolled off of her in bright, gleaming waves that burned and flared as they met Jaesa's skin, filling her with warmth and purpose. Far from the harsh, bitter vacuum of the Dark Side, or the passionless sphere of the Council—cool and smooth like marble—Ishtaa's presence was different. It was adrenaline and serenity, the thrill of righteous fury sated in the wake of a victory and the thrum of laughter.

It was glorious.

When Jaesa opened her eyes, she saw with astonishment that Ishtaa's eyes were shining.

"You mustn't tell anyone," she breathed, her voice raw and shuddering. "The truth…what I am…no one must know." She gritted her teeth, closing her eyes.

"Let me join you."

Ishtaa stared. "What?"

"What you have…I want that. Let me come with you, be your apprentice. I can help you."

"I don't…" Ishtaa sighed. "What I am...Learning to be like me…It'll be dangerous."

"I don't care. I've seen what you've done, and I've felt your power. I've never seen anyone do what you've done. You feel, you love, you feed on passion, and yet your actions reflect only light. You appear to be an agent of the dark side, but it's a mask." Jaesa's eyes flashed. "All my life I've put up with deceit and denial. I thought the Jedi would be different. You showed me otherwise." She grasped the Sith's hands, her eyes still gleaming with the impressions of Ishtaa's nature. "Please. Show me to walk the light path. The _true _light path."

"Jaesa…"

Both jumped at the unexpected growl. They had nearly forgotten that Karr was still present.

"I'll see that the Jedi disavow you," he spat. "You will be labeled an enemy of the order."

"She will not be alone."

Jaesa's face lit up.

"Then I will go with you?" she asked. "I can stand by your side, as your apprentice?"

Ishtaa met the girl's wide-eyed look evenly. "Baras feared your power. As an enemy of the Jedi, I feared your power also. But as an agent of true light…" She trailed off. Slowly, thoughtfully, she nodded. "I sense that we could do great things, you and I."


	13. Chapter 13

**Quinn**

**Fury**

Quinn cursed and yanked his fingers back from the engine, waving them about to ease the sting.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

He glared at the blue Twi'lek in the doorway.

"Don't you have something to do?" he asked irritably, grabbing a wrench from his toolkit. "Slicing? Sleeping? Reprogramming 2V for the tenth time this week?"

"Nah, Ish isn't up yet and I just finished with 2V last night." She examined her nails casually. "He speaks Jawa now, in case you were wondering."

"Does he now?" Quinn asked through gritted teeth.

Vette rolled her eyes. "Don't get too excited, Captain. Someone might actually think you have a sense of humor."

He didn't feel any need to reply to that comment. Vette stared at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to respond. When it became clear that he wasn't planning to answer, she began wandering about the engine room aimlessly. Quinn briefly considered kicking her out, but it occurred to him that she would probably find some other, even more obnoxious way to irk him.

She peered over his shoulder. "You tightened the reactor bolt too far."

He turned to face her, forcing himself to smile benignly. "What do you want, Vette?"

The twi'lek threw her hands up innocently. "Why do you have to be so hostile? I just wanted to chat!"

Quinn's scowl returned. "I seem to recall your master spoke to you about _chatting_."

"_Ishtaa_ told me to stop bugging you about Moff Broysc," she said. "She didn't say anything about chatting."

Sighing, Quinn rubbed his temples wearily. "An omission I will soon remedy."

"You don't even know what I was going to talk to you about."

"No," he said. "But I know that it was _you _planning to do the talking. I think that's sufficient."

"What, are you going to rat me out to 'my master?'" Vette made a face and puffed her chest out. "_My lord_," she said mockingly, "_Vette was attempting to be social in direct violation of section seven, paragraph C—_"

"A word to the wise," Quinn said coolly, "don't pursue a career in acting or espionage. That was the worst Imperial accent I've ever heard."

She ignored his comment. "Why do you call her 'my lord?'"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "It's military protocol," he answered, genuinely confused. _Was she really curious about procedure? _"Superiors are to be addressed as masculine, regardless of gender. Calling her 'my lady…'"

"That's not what I meant," Vette interrupted. "I mean, why don't you just call her Ishtaa like everybody else on this ship?"

He froze. This was dangerous territory.

At last, he shrugged, forcing himself to remain casually aloof. "Like I said: it's military protocol."

"Yeah, and I'm the Emperor's daughter. Last time I checked, it's protocol to do what your master wants, and I'm pretty sure she prefers her name."

"That may be the case," he answered, more firmly than was really necessary, "but I prefer to use her proper title, a fact I believe she understands."

Vette wrinkled her nose. "Why? It's so formal."

"I like formal."

"Yeah," she said, chuckling, "I got that. But why are you so afraid of being informal?" A look of understanding crossed her face. "Oh my gosh. You _like_ her."

"I hardly see how that's some big epiphany," he said disdainfully. "I would never have come aboard this ship if I _dis_liked her." Vette crossed her arms skeptically. Quinn squirmed at the silence. "We work well together. She's efficient, intelligent, honorable, powerful…"

"Cute."

He grimaced. "'Cute' is not the word I would use."

Vette put her hands on her hips, grinning. "But there _is_ a word you would use?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions, apart from to annoy me?"

"Are you seriously blushing right now?"

Quinn ducked his head, embarrassed. "If you're not going to say something useful, I'd appreciate it if you could leave. I need to fix this engine before we can travel to Dromund Kaas."

"Alright, alright, I'll leave you alone. But you should really talk to Ishtaa. Wouldn't want your distraction to keep you from 'peak efficiency.'"

He shot her a glare. Tossing her lekku over her shoulder with a childish grin, Vette sprang into a mock salute and then exited, leaving Quinn alone to fix the engine…and mull things over in peace.


	14. Chapter 14

**Ishtaa**

**Fury**

Quinn kept glancing at her. She was leaning back in her chair on the verge of dozing off, her eyes almost shut. He probably thought she couldn't see her.

She let him continue for several minutes. She had to suppress a smile multiple times; he was just so _nervous_. Whatever it was that was making him so edgy, it was amusing to watch.

Her curiosity got the better of her when she noticed him setting his jaw and standing up even straighter than he usually did.

"Something the matter, Captain?"

He jumped visibly. "No," he stammered. "Nothing at all."

She turned to look at him openly. He wasn't looking at her anymore. His eyes were instead fixed stubbornly on some point out in space. She wasn't fooled. For one thing, she could sense his anxiety through the Force, his aura pulsing in sync with his pounding heartbeat. For another, was blushing furiously.

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as she nodded. "Very well." She felt Quinn's eyes on her again as she stretched and rose from her chair. She had almost made it to the doorway when he gave in.

"Actually, there was one thing I've been meaning to ask you…"

She smiled. "By all means."

Quinn cleared his throat, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Well…you've caused me some difficulty and I'd like to confirm that it was unintended." He paused as if waiting for her to reply. When she responded with a confused eyebrow, he continued. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken," he said, stumbling slightly over his words, "but some time ago it seems you expressed an interest in me beyond our professional relationship."

Ishtaa blinked several times. Now it was her turn to blush slightly. Flirting with Quinn had been an impulse. The first time it was because of his word choice. Since then it had become a game, testing how much it took to get him to drop his professionalism and show some emotion.

"I've given it no further thought," she said. "A momentary amusement, that's all."

The instant she had said it, she regretted it. The truth was, she liked flirting with him, liked seeing him act like a human being instead of a droid wearing a uniform. She liked that she could unsettle him so easily. More than that, she realized, she couldn't imagine going into battle without him. True, she had gotten along without him before they met, and she enjoyed Vette and Jaesa's company, but when she went to the most dangerous planets, into the most brutal battles, he was the only one she wanted by her side and the only one who she knew, without a doubt, would have her back.

But the words were said. To take them back now would seem an afterthought.

So when Quinn gave her a shaky smile, she let him answer without interruption. "Ah," he said, sounding almost relieved, "then all is well." He swallowed heavily, his calm expression flickering for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. "Forget I brought it up."

She nodded. "Understood."

And she left.


	15. Chapter 15

**Quinn**

**Taris**

"_Vault code sequence arming_."

Quinn drummed his fingers as a mechanical voice broke out over the whine of the alarms. He raised his eyes from the vault keypad where Ishtaa was typing furiously. He allowed himself a long look at her face in profile, one he never would have given her if her back was not turned, taking comfort in the familiar expression: one of absolute focus on the task at hand, her concentration blocking out any trace of fear or doubt.

"_The reactor core will self-destruct in sixty seconds." _

A chilling thought crossed his mind. What if after all they had lived and fought through, this was the end? What if, despite the determination etched into Ishtaa's face and frame, they couldn't make it into the vault in time?

"_Vault code sequence initiating."_

He wetted his lips anxiously. "The imposter's estimate had better be right," he said. "If this takes more than a minute, we'll be caught in the explosion."

"Just sit tight." Ishtaa continued to type unperturbed, her voice as calm as Quinn had ever heard it. "I'm sure this will work."

"Of course, my lord." He lowered his head somewhat sheepishly.

"_The reactor core will self-destruct in forty-five seconds." _

The timer's announcement shook Quinn's attempt at bravado. Trying not to let his panic show, he turned around, glancing about the room just in time to see a group of Republic commandos try to sneak up on the pair.

He froze. "My lord, to complicate the matter, it seems we have been spotted."

That caught Ishtaa's attention. Abruptly breaking away from the keypad, she spun around, hands flying instinctively to her lightsabers.

"Blast," she hissed. Drawing her weapons, she turned to Quinn. "Take over. Keep trying to get into the vault."

"But if one of them should shoot you—"

"You can deal with my injuries once we're inside the vault," she snapped, "since I suspect stitching together bits of exploded Sith is a bit beyond your capabilities."

Reluctantly, he nodded. He began trying to slice into the vault, ignoring the sounds of battle just behind him. He stopped himself from turning around twice, but he couldn't keep from wincing when he heard the sound of blaster fire grazing skin. Mercifully, he didn't have to endure long.

"Move over."

"That was quick," he said mildly as he stepped aside.

"They were weak." She resumed working, her fingers beginning to fumble in her haste. "What's our status?"

"The immediate threat has been quelled. However, this place will explode in exactly ten seconds…" _Twelve…Eleven… _"Now."

"_The reactor core will self-destruct in ten seconds."_

Something like a grimace flashed across Ishtaa's face. Quinn saw her throat tighten as she swallowed, the only betrayal of uncertainty in her otherwise calm façade.

If he hadn't been seen her lips move, he would not have heard her speak, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "If there's something you want to say before the end, now's the time."

"I…" His voice failed. His thoughts raced, a million ideas running through his head. There were so many things he never had the chance to say, could never admit. His heart thudded in his chest, beating out an off-kilter rhythm against his ribs. This was his last chance. There was nothing left to lose.

With some effort, he forced himself to speak through the lump in his throat.

_I love you._

But that wasn't what came out. "I'm sorry you never got the chance to avenge your parents' deaths," he said thickly. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help you."

Ishtaa stopped typing and looked at him, taken aback by his words. For a moment, they stared at each other, the alarms and the vault completely forgotten.

"_The reactor core will self-destruct in five seconds." _

Ishtaa visibly jumped and resumed her work at a frantic pace. At long last, the vault let out mechanical hiss.

"_Vault lock disarming." _

"_Four."_

"_Vault door airlock releasing."_

"_Three."_

"_Vault open."_

Ishtaa grabbed his hand.

"Get inside!" she shouted, pulling him in the direction of the door.

"Right behind you, my lord!"

Diving headlong into the vault from a dead sprint, they staggered inside the vault just before the door closed behind them. As if on cue, an explosion rocked the vault, throwing them both to the ground.


	16. Chapter 16

Ishtaa flew across the cargo hold, the balls of her feet just brushing the ground before taking again to the air on a path towards her target. The practice blade swung true, and hit its mark—just as it had every time she had tried in the last hour.

"Ow." Jaesa rubbed her arm.

Ishtaa made an irritated noise in her throat as she stowed the practice blade. "Jaesa, it's like you're not even trying anymore."

"I _am_ trying!" Jaesa said. She blew her bangs out of her face indignantly. "It's not my fault you're not letting me use my powers."

"You shouldn't need your powers to fight. They should be a boon to you, not a crutch." Ishtaa bent Jaesa's elbows, correcting her form. She sighed. "You understand the techniques, and you know how to execute them. But that's your problem," she said. "They shouldn't be 'techniques.' You keep stopping to figure out what your next move should be. I can see it in your face." She lifted Jaesa's chin. "Don't think. Do." Stepping back, she drew her practice blade. "Ready?"

Jaesa glowered from under her bangs, but nodded.

Ishtaa nodded also. "Alright," she said. "On my count. Three…two…" She opened her mouth, her lips forming the shape of the next number. But before she could make any sound, Jaesa sprang into action. Taken off guard, Ishtaa staggered back, and while she was still off-kilter, Jaesa flung her arms out towards her master, tossing her against the railing with a violent force throw.

Scrambling to regain control, Ishtaa force-grabbed Jaesa's wrists and squeezed them until the girl finally let her practice blade fall to the floor. The clatter broke Jaesa out of her temper. A look of horror crossed her face.

"Master…"

"What in the name of the emperor was that?" Ishtaa snapped.

Jaesa stared at her feet in embarrassment.

Softening, Ishtaa pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh.

"Master, I'm so sorry…"

"No," Ishtaa said, raising her hand. "It was my fault. I should have realized that asking you to make the transition from Jedi to Sith combat without using the Force or your powers would be too much." She straightened her practice clothes and, clasping her hands behind her back, began to pace in circles around the girl, studying her.

Jaesa visibly squirmed.

Finally, after a long moment of watching her apprentice like a hawk, Ishtaa let out a quiet 'hmm.' She smiled, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I think I have an idea."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the two women were leaping and darting around each other in perfect synchronicity, the clash of their fight pulsing to the rhythm of music that poured out of Vette's borrowed speakers. Ishtaa laughed: Jaesa's practice blade had made contact once again.

"Yes!" she said, causing her apprentice to beam joyously. "Excellent, Jaesa. Feel the music. Let the song flow through you."

Jaesa's grin widened. Out of nowhere, she sprang into a flip and kicked the practice saber out of her master's hands, gracefully catching it before it hit the ground.

Ishtaa laughed again as she doubled over to rest her hands on her knees. Her merriment was infectious; Jaesa joined in as she returned the blade, filling the whole room with peals of laughter.

They were startled out of their mirth by a voice from the door.

"Well done, Jaesa."

It was Quinn.

Jaesa flushed. Clearing her throat somewhat guiltily, she dashed to Vette's speaker system and shut it off. She gave Ishtaa and Quinn each a jerky nod. "Master. Quinn." And then she scurried from the room, trying not to make eye contact with either of them. For a moment, it looked as if she was suppressing a fit of giggles, but then it vanished into a mask of embarrassment.

Ishtaa turned her attention from Jaesa's flight to Quinn. "Captain," she said. "Was the music disturbing you?"

"What?" He blinked, and then shook his head as if to clear it. "No, not at all. Actually, my father used to do something similar when he taught me to fight as a boy." He smiled faintly. "He was always telling me to 'harmonize' with the 'song of the universe.'"

She frowned. "Really? I didn't think shooting would lend itself to music."

"It was hand-to-hand combat," he explained. "Staffs mostly." His cheeks tinged pink and he coughed. "Apologies, my lord. I was merely curious what the noise was. I'll get back to my duties."

"Now, wait a moment, Quinn." She put a hand on his shoulder as he turned to leave. He flinched at the contact, but didn't continue out of the room. She crossed her arms, an amused smile playing across her face. "I didn't realize there was another crew member with hand-to-hand combat experience. I'm curious." She extended the second practice blade towards him. "Spar with me."

He pushed it away gingerly. "My lord, I really don't think I'd stand a chance—"

"Oh, come on, Captain. Show off a little." She tossed the blade to him. He didn't reject it this time, but caught it reflexively. He paused as if realizing he had just signaled his consent. His grimace deepening as he resigned himself, he eased into a fighting stance.

"I'm not sure this will qualify as 'showing off' so much as it will 'making an absolute idiot of myself.'" His words cut off abruptly as Ishtaa swung her blade at his head. He blocked it, the light metal making a resounding 'clang.' He raised his eyes to her in surprise. Her grin widened.

"I'll go easy on you," she said.

"That's comforting." To her astonishment, she saw that beneath the display of reluctance, the corners of his mouth had turned up into something suspiciously like a smirk.

And they began: Ishtaa on the offensive, taking gentle swings as she stepped forward. Quinn parried her blows easily, mirroring her footwork in reverse.

"See? You're not so out of practice after all."

"On the contrary," he said. "I am entirely out of practice. I'm merely compensating with my knowledge of your combat style."

"Oh, really?" Their blades collided and locked overhead. "And what exactly is my combat style?"

She broke the connection between their blades, backing away from her opponent. Quinn didn't follow her this time, but remained stationary as she began to circle him.

He lowered his blade. "Your movements are very fluid," he said. "Flexible. A teacher would probably say that your form is somewhat poor, too much bending, too many loose joints, but what you lack in sturdiness you make up for in agility." Ishtaa's eyes widened. He had been studying her, it seemed—and he wasn't finished. "You rarely throw your lightsaber or use the hilt," he continued. "Instead you use the blade as an extension of your arms and wrists." She continued pacing around him, too engrossed in his words to resume the fight. "Prone to acrobatics, yet…" His voice took on a strange quality. "Subtle," he said. "You don't charge continuously as some Sith do, wearing yourself out. You watch and you wait, lurking on the sidelines, waiting for the moment to strike—"

Hearing the change in his voice, Ishtaa found her opportunity. She leapt through the air towards him, striking for his lower back and found that her blade met metal, not cloth and skin and muscle.

Adrenaline raced through her veins. No holds barred. This was a fight. Releasing every fragment of tension in her bones, she let her foot fly up towards Quinn's sword hand: her ankle, her leg, her knee all flowing into one smooth curve that moved in tandem with her body and the rhythm of the battle.

Quinn dodged her kick. Unbalanced she began to fall—only to feel a sturdy hand catch her, quickly joined by an arm that wound around her waist to keep her off the ground. It wasn't until the fervor of the fight began to wear off that Ishtaa noticed how closely Quinn was holding her…and how his eyes were the deepest shade of blue she had ever seen, how his uniform smelled of something comforting and richly masculine that she couldn't place but that made her want to keep inhaling for a very long time, how his lips, surrounded by stubble, seemed to be calling her closer and closer…

The world suddenly seemed the wrong-side-up. Ishtaa realized, with an unpleasant drop in her stomach, that Quinn had pulled her upright and set her back on her feet.

"My lord," he said thickly, "I…Excuse me."

He practically fled the room. Ishtaa watched him go. Swallowing her humiliation and disappointment, she swung the practice blade so hard that it whistled through the air. _Stupid, _she told herself. _Stupid. _

She had lost to a non-Force-sensitive, and one who hadn't practiced in years to boot. Her cheeks burned with shame. How could she have lost so easily?

She rationalized that it was simply because she hadn't been using any Force maneuvers, that Quinn knew her style too well, that she was tired from fighting Jaesa.

But she knew the truth.

She was a fool for Malavai Quinn.


	17. Chapter 17

**Fury**

"Broonmark, no!"

Quinn and Ishtaa's heads snapped up in unison. They glanced at each other.

"Should we be worried?" Ishtaa asked mildly.

"The absence of bloodcurdling shrieks would suggest not." Still, he peered at the door with a hint of trepidation. "Then again…"

"I know. _Broonmark_." She set her datapad down with a sigh. "I'll see what's going on."

"Will you require backup?"

Ishtaa raised an eyebrow at him. "Quinn," she said, "if Broonmark ever went on a rampage to the degree that _I_ couldn't take care of it, I'm not sure a whole battalion would be enough backup."

He chuckled. "I don't doubt that, my lord. Nevertheless," he said, "if it's all the same to you, I'd still prefer to assist…if he should scratch you, for instance." He realized how jumbled his words had come out, and hurried to correct himself. "That is…not that I want to help him scratch you. I only meant…if he did scratch you…"

"You would be there to patch me up, as per usual." Ishtaa smiled. "I understood your meaning, Captain."

Quinn was on the verge of answering when a very distressed 2V stumbled into the cockpit.

"Oh dear, oh dear…"

"Perhaps we'd better hurry and see what's happening."

"Right behind you, my lord."

* * *

When the two of them entered the gallery, Vette was tugging on Broonmark's arm in vain, her feet skidding against the ground with the strain as Pierce looked on with an amused smirk. Ishtaa noticed with some alarm that Broonmark's white fur was matted and streaked with crimson.

"Ugh, come on, you furry lump!"

Broonmark gurgled an indignant response.

"What's going on here?" Ishtaa asked, eyeing the patches of blood cautiously.

Resigned to the fact that Broonmark simply was not going to budge, the blue Twi'lek released his arm with a sigh. "Apparently," she said, tossing her lekku over her shoulder and glaring at the enormous Talz, "_someone _has been saving up the blood of his enemies in a jar, and decided it would be a good idea to drench himself in it. Now he refuses to take a bath."

Pierce rolled his eyes. "Ah, don't mind her, milord. Broonmark's just havin' fun, that's all."

"Fun?" Vette sputtered. "He's caked in blood. He smells like an undead womp rat."

"It's war paint!" Ishtaa and Quinn turned to Pierce, their eyes bouncing back and forth as if they were watching a Takett match. "Just a little sweat and blood, nothin' wrong with that! He just wants to smell like a man, don't he, Broon?"

Broonmark gurgled his agreement, nodding vehemently.

Vette turned to Quinn, making her lavender eyes as wide as she could go. "Come on, Captain Stuffypants," she pleaded. "Isn't there some regulation about hygiene or uniforms or something?"

Ishtaa turned to survey Quinn, her eyes narrowed in a mixture of curiosity and amusement, testing him. For a moment, he opened his mouth to begin quoting some rule or clause. But then, catching Ishtaa's gaze, he shut it and cleared his throat to start anew.

"Actually, Vette," he said, "Imperial guidelines aren't terribly specific about non-human personnel. Particularly those that don't wear clothes."

Broonmark blurted in triumph.

Vette groaned at the ceiling, tugging on her lekku in frustration. "Are you kidding me?!" she said. "You're siding with him? _You_, of all people?"

Quinn frowned. "I haven't taken anyone's side," he said. "I merely answered your question."

Vette sighed. "Fine," she said. She turned to Ishtaa and crossed her arms. "Well? What's the verdict?"

"There will be no verdict," she said, turning serious.

Everyone, including Quinn, gaped at her in surprise. After a brief moment of astonishment, Vette, Pierce, and Broonmark all burst out arguing at once, with Quinn looking as if he were beginning to question his neutrality.

"_Silence_!" she said loudly. Her crew promptly shut up, leaving the ship in total silence except for the hum of the engines and 2V's chorus of 'oh dear, oh dear.' Clasping her hands behind her back, Ishtaa dropped all pretense of amusement, and her voice took on the brisk tone she took with incompetent planetside Imperials. "I will not tolerate such trivial disputes, and I will not condescend to diffuse them. Furthermore," she said, shooting the crew a look that made everyone—even Pierce—shrink a little bit, "I will not stand for a divided crew. Now—"

"Broonmark?" Jaesa padded into the room. "I sensed conflict," she said, "what's…" She froze in the doorway, taking in the scene before her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked hesitantly.

Before Vette or Pierce had a chance to interject, Broonmark began burbling rapidly at Jaesa. The girl nodded, accepting his reply. "I see," she said. "And you don't want to take a bath because you wish to display the superiority of the clan?"

Broonmark nodded.

She sighed heavily. "Broonmark," she said, running a hand through the fur on top of his head, "that's not how things are done here."

Broonmark made a noise of protest.

"But you're not with the Talz anymore!" Jaesa said. "You're with the Imperials. And the Imperials don't like it when people walk around with blood all over them. That's weird, Broonmark, and if you keep doing weird things like that, you're going to embarrass your master. You don't want to bring shame on your clan, do you?" He protested again. "Do you?"

He hesitated. Then, after a reluctant pause, he blurted mournfully.

"There you go," Jaesa said, turning cheery once again. "Now why don't you come with me, and I'll help you get washed up, okay?"

He nodded. But as Jaesa took his hand to lead him towards the makeshift tub in the cargo bay, he dragged his feet.

"What's the matter?" she asked. He burbled a question. Jaesa laughed. "No, I'm not going to braid your hair like a Wookie. And I promise I won't use anything floral. Come on." And taking the Talz by the hand, she left the room.

The rest of the crew stared after her.

"What just happened?" Vette asked.

"I think," Ishtaa said smiling, "we just witnessed the start of a very strange friendship."

**AN: Thank you for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated. There's much more to come in this story, but it is your support that keeps me transferring my crazy ideas from brain to paper. **


	18. Chapter 18

**Fury**

Quinn squinted at his datapad, bewildered. The report he was reading was gibberish, or at least it seemed that way. He'd been reading the same line for the past twenty minutes, but the words kept getting jumbled every time he reached the second half of the sentence.

Perhaps his eyes needed a rest. Sighing, he looked up from the screen. His gaze immediately shot to the same place they always 'rested' when he took a break from reports.

Ishtaa.

She wasn't looking at him, which was both a mercy and a price. On the one hand, he was immensely grateful that she couldn't see him right now. Every moment that she wasn't looking at him was a golden opportunity for him to look at her without fear of being caught. And how she would catch him! If she could see the way he looked at her—she, with her intuition, her senses, her acuity—she would know the strange commotion in his heart.

No, it was these moments that he let his guard down, let himself revel in her presence if only for the few seconds when she could not see. She was planning something at the moment, her legs curled up on her chair, one hand writing with a stylus, the other pressed against her cheek for support. In her angled pose, her dark brown hair fell over her face in a messy curtain that veiled her eyes from view.

That was the price of these stolen looks. For despite the thrill of looking upon her unguarded face, and the call of her candid posture begging for his fingers to brush her hair aside, to wrap his arms around her waist, to let her nestle into his frame instead of the cockpit chair, nothing could compare to the tranquility of her eyes meeting his.

She looked up.

"Something wrong, Captain?"

He started. "No," he said. He kept the guilt and fear from his voice and shook his head—deliberately making it look as if he'd been staring at nothing in particular, or the stars.

As if the stars could compare.

"No, my lord," he said, more confidently this time. "Just having trouble concentrating."

"I would imagine. I heard about the problems with Moff Broysc."

"Quite."

It was a lie. Moff Broysc was worrisome…but not nearly so worrisome as the way his focus kept returning to Ishtaa's lips and how soft they looked.

This could not continue.

He stood up and gave a tiny bow, barely remembering to drop a 'my lord' before exiting. Perhaps he could find some peace in slicing…or at least, get aggravated enough by Vette's prodding that he would forget all about Ishtaa and her lips.

* * *

"Quinn?"

The captain didn't respond, his blue eyes staring vacantly at the screen as his fingers continued mechanically tapping out lines of code.

Vette shook his shoulder. "_Quinn!"_

"Yes, what is it? What do you want, Vette?"

"You're doing it wrong!" she said. "We're supposed to be remotely erasing the files, not opening them."

Quinn's brow furrowed in a slightly bewildered expression, his eyes focusing on the screen for the first time. "What?"

"Ugh, move!" She elbowed him out of the way. Surprisingly, he offered no resistance, merely blinking several times. He rubbed a hand across his chin wearily as Vette repaired the mistakes he had made. After a few seconds, she hit the last button with an emphatic 'clack.' "There," she said, fixing her headband. She crossed her arms at Quinn. "But seriously," she said, "what's wrong with you today? I mean, yeah, you're not the best slicer in the galaxy, but this…it's not like you. You're almost as bad as Pierce today."

Pierce shouted from his corner of the room, not bothering to look up from the enormous grenade-launcher he was modifying. "I never said I can't slice, it's just a bloody waste of time. Be easier to go smash the bloody thing to pieces than slicin' into it from here."

Vette ignored Pierce's interruption, turning a studious eye to Quinn's face. Now that she considered it, he looked exhausted. His five o'clock shadow was more pronounced than ever, and his eyes were ringed with dark circles. "Look," she sighed, "you're not going to be much use at this if you can't concentrate."

"I'll be fine," he said, scowling. He picked up his datapad and began sorting through the list of slicing tasks.

"Yeah, but I won't be. Not with you hovering around looking like death. Have you seen yourself today? You're starting to look like a rakghoul and it's freaking me out." She pried his fingers from the datapad. "Do us all a favor and go get some sleep."

"On whose orders?"

"Mine."

Quinn visibly jumped at the sound of Ishtaa's voice. He lowered his head into a slight, stiff bow. "My lord," he said.

Vette stared at him. She couldn't remember a time when she'd ever seen Quinn like this. She hadn't thought it possible for anything to really fluster him. Irritate him, certainly, or anger him, or catch him by surprise...but never this mixture of uncertainty, awe, and terror. And yet here he was, his voice coming out slightly strangled, his skin pale, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

_Had he done something to tick her off? _

No—Ishtaa was smiling benignly at him, not glaring. "Go get some rest, Captain. I'll get 2V to cover your duties for a couple of hours."

"Yes, my lord." He hurried from the room.

Vette stared at the doorway. Now that he'd gone, she felt a slight pang of guilt and concern. In spite of the amount of time she spent bothering him (or really _because _of how much she bothered him, if she were to be completely honest with herself), she didn't actually hate the man. She'd grown to like him, in a strange big-brother-and-deliberately-obnoxious-kid-sister kind of way. As amusing as it was to needle him, she did hope he wasn't really troubled by something.

"What's with _him_?"

Ishtaa's smile faded. "That's not your concern, Vette," she said sternly. She must have felt Vette's reaction, because her face softened. "Captain Quinn will be fine. He's just dealing with some personal problems at the moment. He'll sort it out. Just try not to get in his hair for a day or two." She leaned out of the doorway. "2V!"

"What can I do for you, master?"

"Take over Quinn's slicing tasks. I'll be in the cargo bay with Jaesa if there's any trouble."

* * *

Quinn found no sleep in his bunk. Every time he closed his eyes, afterimages burned against his eyelids.

Images of _her._

Realizing that rest was impossible, he sat up, resting his head in his hands.

_When had this happened? _he thought to himself. When had Ishtaa—his _master_ and superior officer, he noted pointedly—come to dominate his thoughts so thoroughly that he could not escape, no matter where he turned?

He gritted his teeth, steeling himself to an understanding: this was intolerable.

It could not continue.


	19. Chapter 19

**Fury**

There was a strange ache in Ishtaa's chest as she followed Quinn to the cockpit. She had a bad feeling about this. In her head, she knew that he probably just wanted to ask her permission to sort out the latest Broysc fiasco. But her intuition was another matter entirely.

He didn't look at her for a moment. She watched his fingers twining and untwining behind his back. His entire frame radiated tension.

Finally, he breathed out sharply and turned to face her. He cleared his throat thickly.

"My lord," he began tersely, "thank you for attention. I must officially ask to be reassigned."

His words hit her like a punch to the gut.

"Not going to happen," she said, once she had regained the ability to speak. Words failing her, she turned on her heel to leave the room. "Dismissed."

He lurched forward to stop her with his arm. She blinked at him, dumbfounded. She didn't protest his forwardness—she was still processing the fact that Malavai Quinn had disobeyed a direct order, and trying to ignore the fact that her heart had decided to start pounding against her ribcage.

"My lord, I must speak freely then," he said, gripping her upper arm to pull her back into the cockpit. She stared at his fingers. They dug into her bare skin, a stark contrast to the way he drew her away from the door, barely exerting any force but somehow managing to keep her from leaving. He must not have realized how solid his grip was, because it was only when he saw her staring that he let go, his cheeks flushing. "I…I am compromised." His voice broke in the middle of the word, and it was as though a dam had broken. For the briefest instant, Quinn the soldier vanished: it was a man that stood before her now, pained and vulnerable. His eyes darted about the room. "I am forced to admit that thoughts of you have begun to…distract me." He met her eyes. It started something in him; all at once he was a soldier again. "I cannot in good conscience continue to serve."

She studied him, completely taken aback. Never had it crossed her mind that Quinn could ever possibly be attracted to her. She had flirted with him on Balmorra…but that was idle teasing, jesting directed at someone who she could never in a million years imagine ever viewing her as more than a superior officer. If she had known that he might look at her the same way she looked at him, the way he was looking at her now…

She'd have lost her nerve, just like she lost her nerve now.

"If you insist on reassignment," she said quietly, "it'll be a shame, but I'll grant it." She looked up at him, suddenly realizing how much larger he was than her—his shoulders broad and strong, located at just the right height for her to bury her face in his neck. "Are you absolutely certain you can't stay?" She hadn't meant it to come out so pleading, but she couldn't stop the note of desperation in her voice.

"I…" He fumbled for the words. He moistened his lips, his eyes flickering about restlessly. "If we were involved, we might not be able to act if the other's life would be forfeit."

She answered without hesitation. "I would have no trouble deciding if that situation should arise."

It was the truth. She already knew what she would do. She would find another way.

She saw something change in Quinn's demeanor. He stepped towards her, his fingertips smoothing the loose strands of her hair away from her face. "I can resist you no longer."

He kissed her. Every stray thought that cluttered her head instantly dissipated, all of her energy suddenly focused on the pressure of his lips against hers, the only thing that mattered at present. He tasted warm; that was the only way she could describe it. Warm and heady—or perhaps that was merely the smell of his aftershave that filled her lungs with every breath. She idly noticed that his hands had shifted to her back. His strong arms twined around her waist to envelope her in the kiss. She responded to the pressure by throwing her arms over his shoulders. Her fingers had just begun to twist into his hair when he broke away, a dazed contentment written all over his face.

"I don't know why I did that."

"I do." She gazed up into the deep blue pools of his irises, resting her head against his reassuringly. "Don't fight it. It will make you stronger."

He raised his chin to kiss her forehead. "I'm growing open to the idea, my lord."

**AN: Thanks for reading! Reviews much appreciated!**


	20. Chapter 20

**INTERLUDE**

_Although their mutual feelings were finally out in the open, their bliss was soon interrupted by a call from Major Ovech, an old colleague and friend of Quinn's. Ovech, sent into Republic territory on a suicide mission by Moff Broysc, was trapped in his ship without any hope of reinforcements._

_Through daring, quick-thinking, and a fantastic display of his skill as a pilot, Quinn single-handedly rescued Ovech and his crew from the Republic's siege. After contacting Ishtaa to report his success, Quinn relented to Ovech's repeated requests and agreed to stay for the celebrations. _

_Meanwhile, Ishtaa and Jaesa traveled down to the toxic world of Quesh, on a mission from Darth Baras to protect an Imperial base from Republic saboteurs…_


	21. Chapter 21

**Quesh**

"What a stroke of luck," Jaesa said. Ishtaa eyed her curiously. "The detonator being broken, I mean," she said. "I sensed their leader's confidence. He wasn't bluffing."

"Perhaps not." Ishtaa glanced about the cave again, even though she had just scanned the area moments ago. "What I want to know is why Baras hasn't sent any backup."

Jaesa frowned, confused. "Do we need backup?"

"No, but that hasn't stopped him in the past. Seems like every time I make some great stride in the Empire's military campaigns, Imperial troops show up just in time to clean up the mess." Her fingers traced the hilt of her lightsaber uneasily. Grimacing, she gestured to her apprentice. "Come on. Let's get off this filthy planet."

"Yes, Master."

The two women moved through the cave warily, neither of them speaking to the other as they watched and listened for any sign of incoming Imperial troops. They passed several minutes in silence before Ishtaa murmured under her breath.

"Where are they?" she wondered aloud.

"Perhaps Baras has caught on to the fact that you don't need reinforcements."

"No, he's always known that," Ishtaa said impatiently, her forehead creased in concentration. "He's Baras. He knows everything. He knows what I'm capable of and what I can do. That's not why he sends reinforcements. It's never been about keeping me safe, it's been about keeping an eye on me." She paled. "But if Baras hasn't sent anyone, that can only mean…"

"He doesn't need to keep an eye on you—"

"—because he already _has_ one."

Jaesa and Ishtaa stared at each other, sensing their mutual bewilderment and foreboding.

Ishtaa's holo beeped, startling her apprentice. She withdrew it from a fold in her robe and answered it. A chill ran down her spine as an uncomfortably familiar voice began to speak.

"Well, well, well. Well done. Mission accomplished, eh?"

Ishtaa narrowed her eyes. Until she knew what he and Baras were playing at, best to feign obliviousness. "The threat is over," she said.

Draahg smirked, obviously relishing the moment. "There was never a threat, friend," he said. "Captain Trey-yen was sent here by one of Baras' Republic moles."

Ishtaa's stomach plummeted. "Run," she muttered to Jaesa out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes never leaving the holo. Her apprentice, transfixed by the image herself, didn't seem to hear her master. But before Ishtaa could discreetly try again, Draahg had continued speaking.

"The explosives he set up were not wired to the Captain's detonator," he explained. "I have the real detonator, an elaborate trap for you."

Ishtaa glowered at him. "So," she said bitterly, "Baras is stabbing me in the back."

"Our master prides himself on being one step ahead of everyone. That includes you. He knew someday you would rise against him. You were his fiercest," Draahg spat, a note of jealousy clear in his tone. "I consider it a privilege that he's allowed me to pull the trigger."

Ishtaa nudged Jaesa. "Run," she mumbled, careful not to move her lips except into what could pass for teeth bared in fury.

"Not without you," Jaesa replied.

Ishtaa shot her a warning look, but then had to return her attention to the holo. "This will be your fate one day, Draahg," she said.

He smiled condescendingly. "You let me worry about that." He arranged his face into a mock-angelic expression. "Baras sends his regards." His eyes hardened. "Goodbye."

He pushed the button.

Ishtaa spun to face Jaesa. "I said _run!_" she shouted furiously, her voice becoming lost in a growing rumble.

"I'm not leaving without you!"

Ishtaa shot a panicked look at the ceiling as the boulders overhead gave a threatening groan. She was running out of time. Turning to Jaesa, she steeled herself.

"Tell Baras to go to hell." She threw her hands out, closing her eyes as she called on the Force to push with all of her might. She heard Jaesa shriek as she was thrown towards the mouth of the cavern.

"Master, DON'T!"

Ishtaa took a shuddering breath, resigned to her fate. For the first time in her life, she wished the Jedi were right. She didn't care that they had killed her parents, she didn't care that they were hypocrites. She only hoped that, in spite of their wrongdoings, that they could be right about one thing, that what they said was true.

There is no death. Only the Force.

Everything went dark.

**AN: More to come! Thanks for reading! Whether you liked the story, loved it, or hated it so much that you're literally vomiting on your keyboard, leave a review and let me know! (Although you might want to deal with the puke first. Yuck.) I love to hear from readers, even if it's to tell me that my writing sucks, because that tells me what to change and how to get better. And if you liked the story, let me know! It'll motivate me to post chapters faster if I know people want to read more.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Alderaan**

"You always did know how to find your privacy, even at a party like this."

Quinn wasn't startled. He had seen the man enter through the curtain in his peripheral vision. He didn't even move from the wall he was resting against. "And you were always very good at finding me," he said.

Ovech chuckled. "I don't know if I'd call it 'finding.' More like unintentionally stumbling across an already-occupied hiding place whenever I tried to sneak off for a glass of brandy."

Quinn raised an eyebrow at him. "It would seem that you've escalated, then," he said, pushing himself away from the wall, "because I seem to recall that you were always carrying _a_ glass of brandy, not two."

"It's wine, actually."

"Well, that changes everything."

"And they're not both for me." He held out one of the glasses. "Now, drink, before I change my mind."

Quinn took the drink with a laugh, and the two men tapped glasses. Ovech immediately began to drink, downing half of his glass in one swig. Quinn sipped more gingerly, preparing himself for a heavy, bitter taste and subsequent dulling of the senses that he'd never particularly cared for. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the wine was mild, and tinged with a light spice he wasn't familiar with.

Ovech let out a hearty chuckle at the look on Quinn's face. "Better than the swill they serve lieutenants, eh?"

"Yes." Quinn took another sip. "Much better, actually," he said, studying the drink's color as if he were expecting to see a difference.

"I'd expect so," Ovech said. "Asta Kilran only serves the best."

Quinn stopped, glass halfway to his lips. "_Kilran_? As in—"

"The Moff isn't here at the moment. But he sends his congratulations. We're in one of the Kilrans' summer homes on Alderaan," he said. "We'd be on Broysc's doorstep on Dromund Kaas, so we couldn't exactly celebrate there. Luckily, Lady Kilran was planning one of her galas and graciously offered to host us when she heard the news." He frowned at the captain, who had just grunted. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing your medics couldn't fix." Quinn stretched his arms and upper shoulders. "Just residual spasms at this point."

Ovech's frown deepened. "I hadn't realized you were injured."

"Two broken ribs, a second-degree burn, and minor internal bleeding."

His eyes widened. He surveyed Quinn, searching for outward signs of discomfort; he found none. "I didn't know there was such a thing as _minor _internal bleeding."

"It was a rough landing."

"Indeed." He surveyed the captain over the top of his glass. "Well, your 'rough landing' certainly made an impression. I've been approached by two commanders, a major, and four colonels, all wanting to know what it would take to get you in their command."

Quinn stared at him. "Me?"

"You've made quite a reputation for yourself," said Ovech seriously. "You've done more for this Empire on more planets than most high-ranking officials do in their entire career. Nar Shaddaa, Taris, the civil war here on Alderaan…"

"I wasn't acting alone," Quinn pointed out. "Lord Ishtaa was responsible for most of the victories you mentioned. The credit is entirely hers."

Ovech sighed. "You're missing the point," he said impatiently. "It's not just what you've done. It's _you_! It's the entire way you operate." He paused. "Do you know what happened after the Battle of Druckenwell?"

Quinn froze instinctively, his posture and expression hardening. "Of course I do," he said darkly.

"Really?" The major scowled. "You know everything? You know what went on behind closed doors, behind superiors' backs?"

Quinn didn't answer.

"You had a lot of supporters after you stood up to Moff Broysc," Ovech said. "And not just underlings. Officers, dozens of them, tired of watching their best men thrown away on suicide missions and ego trips, they rallied behind _you_."

Quinn laughed bitterly. "If I had so many supporters," he sneered, "then why did I spend ten years of my life as an outcast, relegated to a backwater planet in the cesspool of the galaxy." He clenched his fist. "I lost ten years," he spat. "Ten long years of my life, years I could have spent protecting the Empire or saving lives. Cast off from every opportunity, every colleague, every battle, knowing that no matter what I could do or what I had done, nothing I ever achieved would be worth a damn." He scoffed. "I saved countless lives at Druckenwell," he said. "Why weren't any of them there to save me?"

"Because they were afraid," Ovech snapped. "Everyone was afraid of Moff Broysc's power, including me. Knowing what he had the authority to do, what he was capable of, nobody dared to stand up to him. Nobody," he said emphatically, "except you." Quinn turned to look at his old colleague. He was surprised to find that there was no sarcasm, no joke written in his face; only deep admiration, and a look that bordered on reverence. "You're a hero, Quinn," he said solemnly. "I know it, your master knows it, everyone knows it. And now that you've gone and single-handedly rescued a major from Republic siege and a squadron of Imperial commandos, they can do something about it in the open. You've gone from a regrettable casualty of Broysc's ego to a name that people can stand behind."

Quinn sighed heavily and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.

Ovech looked mildly affronted. "I thought you'd be a little more pleased to have all these opportunities for promotion."

"Once, perhaps." His eyes glazed over as he set his empty glass down on a buffet, thinking, staring at nothing in particular. If he had been given this opportunity a year ago, he would have taken it. He smiled faintly. How much had changed since then. He realized that the major was waiting for him to continue. He shook his head to clear the idle thoughts from his mind. "But that day is past. Things are different now."

"What, since you began working for the Sith?" He said "Sith" like it was a dirty word.

Quinn leapt to her defense. "She saved me from that wretched planet," he said fiercely. "I was wasting away. Before she came to Balmorra, I was nothing."

Ovech stared at him blankly. "_She_?"

He swallowed. He could have corrected himself, tried to play off his error as a slip of the tongue, but he didn't. He crossed the room to the window, resting against the sill. The major followed him.

"Have you lost your mind?" he whispered. "Darth Baras is the one who saved your career. Baras is the one you owe, not this," he sputtered, struggling for words, "this _apprentice_."

Quinn narrowed his eyes. "His '_apprentice_' is a force to be reckoned with."

Ovech let out a bark of humorless laughter. "And Baras isn't?"

"Not like her." He gazed out the window. "Baras might be a master at pulling strings, but she's…" His voice caught. A memory had risen to the surface of his mind.

"_I excite you, do I?"_

"_Well…What I meant to say was…When I imagine all the ways that you will shape the galaxy, I get very excited. Yes."_

He hadn't meant it the way she had interpreted it at the time…but in hindsight, the way she danced across the battlefield, lightsabers blazing, the golden light reflected in her green eyes, the exertion of the fight making her skin glow pink…it made him ache with longing. Coupled with her ingenuity, her wit, her integrity, her intensity, it almost threatened to overwhelm him.

"You love her."

Quinn swallowed the lump in his throat. "I…Yes." He turned to see the major's reaction; his eyes were wide with fear. Finally, he cleared his throat, drawing himself up to his full height.

"I can't order you to stop loving her," Ovech said. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "However, I would advise you to recall where your loyalties lie."

"My loyalties are not in conflict."

"Not yet," he said. "But loyalties change." Out of the blue, his face broke into a smile. "Oh, come now," he said, putting an arm around Quinn's shoulder in a paternal gesture, "I didn't tell you all this to ruin your evening. I just don't want you to throw away your future on a whim."

Quinn's first instinct was to tell Ovech in no uncertain terms that Ishtaa was not a whim. But then, he realized, the man was well on his way to being tipsy, and this probably wasn't the most prudent time to have a heart-to-heart. Instead, he simply nodded. "I understand."

Ovech chortled. "Atta boy." Grabbing Quinn's empty glass from the buffet, he headed towards the curtain separating the antechamber from the main hall. He held the curtain to the side. "You coming back to the party?"

Quinn lagged behind, still struggling with what the major had told him. He nodded. "I'll be in shortly," he said. "I just need to think for a few moments."

Ovech nodded gravely. "I understand. When you get tired of pondering Sith politics, let me know if you want an introduction to any of those interested parties I mentioned. I'd be happy to set you up."

"Thank you." Quinn closed his eyes in relief when the major left.

He had no intention of being 'set up' with any 'interested parties.' Still…Ovech had given him much to think about. He had just pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the windowpane when his holo began to beep.

Scowling, he pulled the infernal thing out of his pocket. It was Vette's frequency; no doubt she had called to nag him or tell him about some inane prank she had recently played.

Still, he couldn't ignore a call from the ship.

He sighed wearily before pushing the button.

"What is it, Vette?" he asked, glancing up at the ceiling—half hoping something would fall down and spare him the irritation of this conversation.

He stopped his mental griping when he heard the Twi'lek crying. He looked down at the holo to see her eye makeup smeared all down her cheeks.

"Quinn," she said, sobbing, "you have to come back. You have to come back here right now."

"Why? What is it? Is Ishtaa hurt?"

Vette shook her head. For a few seconds, tears overwhelmed her, and she was unable to speak. Her voice was thick when she continued. "It's worse than that," she said. "She…She's missing. She and Jaesa are gone. They're both gone."

**AN: For those of you who have been reading and reviewing, thank you so much! You have no idea how much glee and motivation to write it fills me with to know that people are actually reading (and enjoying) my story! If you read this chapter and have any thoughts, please don't hesitate to review below, anonymous or signed, positive or negative, all feedback is accepted. Thanks again for your support.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Quesh**

"_Ishtaa_."

She heard her name spoken in a sweet, soft voice, but it was unclear—as if the sound were coming from some place very far away.

"_Ishtaa."_

She knew that voice. She couldn't identify the speaker, but it stirred something in her memory, faint images of someone she loved, and someone who loved her in return. She tried to open her eyes, make some movement towards the sound, but she couldn't muster the strength. She felt so _heavy_…

"_Ishtaa. Wake up. You have to get up." _

She frowned.

"_ISHTAA."_

With a gasp, she opened her eyes. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was—some strange place with a cold, hard floor, and dark; the woman who had been speaking to her was nowhere to be found. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, it all came flooding back to her.

_Draahg. Baras_.

She unconsciously pounded a fist against the ground, her teeth clenched in fury. A bolt of pain shot through her temples. She sank back to the floor with a whimper. Even that small noise, that tiny protest, took an enormous amount of effort, and she started to cough, setting off a wave of spasms in her abdomen, her stomach muscles coiling in protest. The coughing turned quickly into retching; she heaved, clutching her stomach, but nothing came out except spit, thick from dust and dehydration.

When the heaves finally subsided, she fell limply to the ground and let the coolness of the floor seep into her skin. She was going to die here: she realized that now. If she didn't bleed out from the inside, she was eventually going to run out of air.

She forced herself to swallow some of the foul grit that coated her throat. So this was how it would end. In all her battle strategies and contingency plans, she hadn't planned for this. When she steeled herself for the end, she had envisioned something worthy of great stories—a final duel upon the heights of some grand structure, a blaze of fire and ash as a Jedi temple imploded—not this. Not curled in a heap of inhuman misery, alone on the floor of a cave, rasping for oxygen that wasn't there, covered in filth and bruised beyond recognition.

This was the end.

She felt her eyes burn with tears. She had failed. Every drop of sweat and blood she had spilt was in vain. All her battles, meaningless. Her parents had lived and died for love, but what had she died for? Nothing. It had all been for nothing. They were dead, and now she would die too, with nothing to show for it. No vengeance. No retribution. The galaxy would go on spinning as if neither she nor her parents had ever existed, as it had always been: vile, corrupted by the Jedi and Baras, and all the hypocrites that poisoned the air with greed and deceit.

She was pathetic. Worthless.

Perhaps it was best that she die alone, she thought. At least this way, no one else had to know how it ended. Vette would have the comfort of thinking her death quick and painless. Jaesa would think that her last impulse was one of selflessness, to save her apprentice. Pierce and Broonmark would hear how she cursed Baras with her dying breaths. And Quinn would never see her like this: hideously bruised and filthy, sniveling like a child, weak and broken.

Through her tears, she managed a weak smile. _Quinn_. That was her comfort. He wasn't like the rest of the galaxy, weak or wicked. He was good, and honorable, and he was strong enough to do something about it. He would protect the others. He would carry on, continuing the fight that she no longer could.

She closed her eyes, allowing memories of him to fill her senses and act as a balm to soothe away some of the pain and hate. If she was going to die, at least her last moments could be happy ones.

_I'm holding you, Quinn. _

Something surged in her chest and she let out an audible sob.

_I love you, Quinn. _

She shuddered as the outburst broke, her hysteria snapping into a strange sort of peace. She took one last deep breath and sighed.

She surrendered.

Her holo beeped.


	24. Chapter 24

**Fury**

He closed his eyes and leaned against the doorframe when he had gotten up the ramp to the ship, letting out a heavy sigh. It had been a very long day. He'd been all across Quesh, trying every officer he came across to see if they could give him some clue as to Ishtaa and Jaesa's whereabouts. The last one had been particularly unhelpful. Quinn had nearly assaulted him in an attempt to get information out of him.

"_Listen to me," he snarled, "I order you as a captain and as the servant of a very powerful Sith—"_

"_And I am under orders from a member of the Dark Council," the lieutenant replied smugly, curling his lip. He narrowed his eyes at Quinn's hands, clenched around his collar, pinning him against the wall. "Now I suggest you take your hands off me before I have you detained by the authority of Darth Baras."_

He staggered into the main room of the ship. Everywhere he had gone, the answer was the same: the details of Lord Ishtaa's mission were top secret, not to be shared with anyone regardless of rank, by order of Darth Baras. He had spent hours fishing for leads, but still no Ishtaa.

The only scrap of hope had come from a soldier at the last center he had visited, a young, bright-eyed private—practically a boy—who had approached him somewhat tentatively after the lieutenant had left.

"_You said your name was Captain Quinn? As in _the _Captain Quinn?"_

_He stopped, startled. "That depends," he said. "There might be another one."_

"_Captain Malavai Quinn," the boy said eagerly. "You fought in the Battle of Druckenwell. They said…" He stammered. "They said in the Academy that you went against orders, saved the day."_

_Quinn flinched. "Ah. It would seem that there _isn't _a different one, then."_

_The private looked like a child seeing a full-sized starship for the first time. "Wow. That's…It's an honor to meet you," he said, grinning._

_Quinn weakly smiled. "Thank you. I'm glad to have served the Empire."_

_His lack of enthusiasm must have showed, because the lieutenant's smile faded. "You're really worried about this Sith, aren't you?" The captain didn't answer, but the lieutenant had already figured it out. The boy glanced over his shoulder nervously. He lowered his voice. "Look, don't tell anyone I said this, but I'll contact you if this Sith or her apprentice turn up. I can't tell you anything about her mission or where she went, I wasn't allowed to know myself, but I promise that if anyone finds her, you'll be the first to know." _

Quinn sank into one of the seats beside the dinner table. His stubble scratched his palms as he buried his face in his hands. He hadn't shaved. He also hadn't filed any reports, checked the ship's functions, or done inventory, but it all seemed like such trivial nonsense at the moment.

He heard footsteps coming up the ramp. He looked up eagerly, hope flaring in his chest.

It was Vette…and she looked just as forlorn as he had moments ago.

His face sank. "Anything?"

She shook her head. "Pierce and Broonmark are still scouring the place manually, but there wasn't anything in the computers," she said. "I sliced into the Imperial databases, but there were parts of it even I couldn't access."

Quinn nodded. "We will simply have to try again tomorrow."

Vette sighed.

Quinn raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you have an alternative plan of action?"

"No...But I think…" Vette bit her lip. "I think it might be time for us to consider that she might not be coming back."

"Not come—no." He stood up. "No, don't be ridiculous. Why wouldn't she come back?"

"Because she's _dead_, Quinn," Vette burst out. "Face the facts. She's been gone for three days, she hasn't contacted us, nobody will tell us where she went because it's classified—"

He searched her face, waiting for the punch line, the teasing 'Captain Stuffypants' and reprimands not to take everything so seriously. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she said shakily, "that everyone, even Sith, can die. If someone wanted her dead, we have to consider that as a possibility."

"There's no evidence to suggest that she's dead."

"And there's no evidence to suggest that she isn't!"

"Why are you so determined to believe that she's gone? Do you want her to be dead?"

Vette let out a cry of annoyance. "Don't you get it?!" she snapped, waving her arms in frustration. "What I want has nothing to do with it. What I want has never had anything to do with it." She took a deep breath, her voice shaking as her eyes brimmed with tears. "Look," she said, "I loved Ishtaa. She was my _family_. But I can't let the fact that I love her get in the way of the truth. And the truth is that she might be dead." She raised her chin. "It's hard enough to lose someone you love. I'm not going to make it worse by getting my hopes up first."

And then, much to Quinn's embarrassment, she began to cry openly. He winced. He might not have said anything directly, but he still felt as if he was somehow vaguely responsible for making her cry.

He cleared his throat. "Vette," he said haltingly, "I know that you've lost people before, and I understand that it's difficult…" _How could I start again now that I've known her? How could anything ever compare to being in her service? Who could ever possibly compare to her? _He closed his eyes, suppressing the doubts that plagued his own could face his own demons later. Right now, his duty was to provide support. He put a hand on Vette's shoulder. "But Lord Ishtaa is a powerful Sith and an incredibly strong woman," he said. "I've seen her look death in the eye and come out unscathed. If anyone could do that more than once, it would be her." He found, as he was saying it, that he almost started to believe it himself.

Almost.

His train of thought was cut off when Vette abruptly threw her arms around him.

His immediate instinct was to freeze, arms awkwardly held out from his sides, completely immobile in the grip of the frantic Twi'lek. Slowly, however, he relaxed, and put his arms around her. He patted the top of her head stiffly.

"Shh," he crooned. He tried to keep his voice neutral, even though his eyes were wide with confusion and verging on panic. Was this how one was supposed to deal with a crying girl? It dawned on him that he was being somewhat condescending, that the head-patting and tone of voice were probably more appropriate for a baby than a full-grown—mostly grown? Now that he thought about it, he had no idea how old Vette was, or if her species even measured age the same way humans did.

Mercifully, he didn't have to worry about the correct protocol for dealing with a crying girl for very long, because another set of footsteps came running up the ramp.

Quinn and Vette broke apart as Pierce barreled into the room, his feet thundering against the floor.

"News, lieutenant?"

Pierce nodded. "It's Jaesa, Cap'n," he said, slightly out of breath. "We've found her."


	25. Chapter 25

**Fury**

"They said she's stabilized."

"Good." Quinn rolled his sleeves up and began to clean his hands. "Pierce, move her from the stretcher to the bed. _Gently_," he added hurriedly. "We don't want to disturb her too much until we know what kind of internal damage she might have suffered."

Pierce gave a nod. He scooped Jaesa into his arms and carried her across the room as if she weighed no more than an infant.

Vette squinted over Quinn's shoulder. She wrinkled her nose. "What's that?"

"Stim," he said briskly, opening the package in one fluid movement that had become second nature over the past year. "Normally, she would be allowed to rest, but we need to know where Ishtaa is, and time is a luxury we cannot afford." He glanced at Jaesa. "I'll need a patch of bare skin. Go adjust her robes so I can give her the injection."

"I'm on it!"

Quinn braced himself against the countertop. _She's alive. She's alive. If she survived, then Ishtaa could have done the same._

Steeling himself, he turned to the unconscious girl lying on the infirmary bed and pushed the stim into her skin.

**Quesh**

She answered the holo.

"Ah, apprentice. The fools managed to arrange the explosives as instructed. Excellent. I was beginning to fear that they'd bungled the job and killed you in the initial blast."

She bared her teeth at the flickering image of her former master. "You're a dead man walking, Baras," she spat.

"An admirable sentiment," he said patronizingly, "but an empty one. You survived the initial blast by my design, but rest assured that you will run out of air and you will die. The only reason you have lived this long is that I thought you deserved to know the truth before you die."

Ishtaa choked out a bitter laugh. "So honored to have earned your esteem."

Baras clucked his tongue. "You always were insubordinate," he said. "A trait you inherited from your father, I suppose."

Ishtaa winced. She sank lower to the ground with a soft grunt; the effort of raising herself up to speak had begun to take a toll on her battered ribcage. "What would you know about it?" she said through gritted teeth. "My father died trying to protect my mother and I. He was a hero."

"Your father was what I made him to be." Baras clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. "They told you at the Academy that your father was a Jedi."

"Because he _was_ a Jedi," she snapped. "My mother was too. The Jedi Council killed them for their defiance."

"You foolish girl," said Baras. "_I_ killed your father."

She gaped at him, pressing a hand to her stomach as she struggled to breathe. "What?"

"Everything they told you at the Academy about your parents—the Jedi Council, their tragic love—it was all a lie. Your mother was a slave, a whore to the Sith, captured and used for the acolytes' amusement."

"How dare you?" she snarled. "My mother was a Jedi and a hero, as was my father by her side."

Your father was no more a Jedi than you are. He was my apprentice."

Ishtaa stared. Her whole body numbed. "No, this is…You're lying," she shouted. "You're lying!" Propelled by anger, she tried to stand but couldn't. She dissolved into coughs before doubling over, sinking back to her knees on the filthy ground. "It's not true," she said hoarsely. "You're trying to trick me. Get inside my head. I won't let you! It's not true." Her arms nearly gave way. She stumbled forward, propped up only by her elbows. "It's not true…"

"Do you really think me so foolish as to plan an elaborate lie when I believed Jaesa would be with you?"

Ishtaa clenched her eyes shut. "I'm going to kill you, Baras. I swear, if I have to destroy death itself, one day, I will watch you fall."

"Goodbye, apprentice."

Baras vanished, and Ishtaa was again left alone.

Her façade broke.

Where she had been numb moments ago, she now burned. Every bone, every muscle fiber in her body shook with rage. Her eyes snapped open as she arched her back and let out an animalistic scream of pain and hate.

As she screamed, the cavern began to shake violently. The floor rumbled. Cracks began to form in the walls, spider webs and lightning bolts of dark fire. Dust fell from the ceiling in rivers, tumbling over rocks and crevasses as it spilled downwards. The thunderous sound in Ishtaa's ears reached a crescendo.

Then, in an explosion of stone, her rage burst. Weak, shaking with exhaustion and tears, she fell limply into the newly formed crater and slept.

**AN: Feedback (reviews) of any kind are always appreciated! If you like this story, please follow or favorite it; that way I know there's people reading it, which motivates me to post more new chapters faster.**

**Also, be honest-how many of you were worried I was going to go the completely cliche route and recreate "Luke, I am your father?" **


	26. Chapter 26

**Quesh**

"_Interest justified. Shall I revive?"_

"_Offer no help. We must be sure. She has proven her strength by obliterating the cave, but her true worth will be established by surviving the trek to safety. We will wait at the command center exactly one day for our proof."_

**Fury**

Everything was dark and noises pounded against Jaesa's skull. Through the heavy pulse, she had a notion that there was something she was forgetting: something very important. She groaned dully.

"Quinn." Vette's voice. She sensed her impatience, driving an elbow into the Captain's ribs.

There was a flicker of recognition…and trepidation, tinged with hope and sheer terror in equal parts. The corresponding jolt of adrenaline went straight to her heart. There was something terrible that she had to tell them. They had to know. They had to _do_ something.

"Lieutenant, get Broonmark and 2V out of here. She'll likely be disoriented when she wakes, no need to compound her distress."

A flash of irritation, but duller than usual. "Yes, Cap'n." The crews' signatures gradually faded—the rumble of boulders in an avalanche, the spurt of blood, the mechanical rhythm of parts clinking in sequence—and she felt them go about their business in another part of the ship until she tuned them out, leaving only the flutter of wings and the contained potential of an icy sphere scarcely holding in a molten volcanic core. There was one missing. The star, burning, glowing, ever so slightly churning out bursts of fire and radiation that flared into the hearts of others, unseen.

Ishtaa.

"Baras," she gasped. She sat bolt upright, her eyes wide.

Vette rushed over, placing a hand on Jaesa's back. "It's alright," she said, putting her other hand atop Jaesa's. "It's me and Captain Quinn. You're okay."

"No, no," she said, her voice rising. She yanked her hand from Vette's, running it through her hair in agitation. "Master!"

The ice sphere cracked. Traces of fire seeped out through the edges. "What about your master?" Quinn asked; his voice was thick with urgency. "Where is Lord Ishtaa?"

The memories flooded back. Draahg's filthy aura. The only time she had ever seen fear in Ishtaa's eyes. "We—we went into a cave," she said breathlessly. "We were sent to stop Republic saboteurs…b-beneath an Imperial base. "

Vette and Quinn exchanged a look.

"I'll check the database for Imperial bases near and over known caves," said Vette immediately.

"But there were bombs. Baras' bombs. He betrayed us," Jaesa continued frantically. "The explosives…they were his. They said we were there to help but it was all a trick. And Ishtaa…"

Quinn had blanched. "Baras betrayed you?" She nodded in reply, words failing her as her throat choked up and she forced herself to regain composure, taking in breaths that scorched her lungs until she started to calm down.

In all her panic, Jaesa had failed to notice the thin sheen of sweat over her skin. She shivered delicately, her teeth beginning to chatter slightly.

Meanwhile, all of the severity had gone out of Quinn's posture and his brow had furrowed. He was studying Jaesa through his eyelashes. She felt his conflict, the medical officer trying not to overwhelm her and risk traumatizing her warring with the frenzy of a concerned lover. Slowly, her shivering ceased, shock and horror replaced by the fascination of a new discovery.

"You…you truly care for her," she said.

Quinn started to deny it. He obviously remembered her power, however, because he very quickly stopped speaking with the expression of a child who had just been caught in a blatant lie. The fire that had been seeping out of the cracks fell back and turned into a glow, warming the entire sphere of his aura without any outbursts of flame.

She stared at him in wonder. "I had sensed your mutual desire, but what you are feeling now runs deeper," she marveled. "It's beautiful."

Quinn cleared his throat. With obvious difficulty, he finally looked up from his boots to look Jaesa in the eye. She saw that his eyes were shining. "Jaesa, I must know: is she alive?"

She hesitated. "Our bond is such that I would expect to have sensed her passing," she said haltingly, "but after she pushed me out of the cave, after it began to collapse…She might not have made it."

He wetted his lips. A nervous tic she hadn't noticed before. "I'm well aware of that possibility. But I must know for certain."

Jaesa nodded, her owl-like brown eyes fixed on his face. He meant what he had said. "Very well then." She closed her eyes and reached out through the Force. I sense…" She began slowly, sifting through the others in between her and Ishtaa. "Your feelings for her are very strong, as are Vette's." She blew her bangs out of her face exasperatedly. "So many people in the way…so much interference…it's making it somewhat difficult to find her." She pursed her lips, focusing with all her might. Then, a familiar gleam. "Wait," she said, smiling; Quinn snapped to attention. "I feel something. I think—" Her smile faded. Something was wrong. It felt like Ishtaa's presence, but there was something amiss—as if the halo of starlight that normally surrounded her had been enflamed, distorted and warped in the heat. She delved a little deeper, reaching out to brush against the edges of her master's awareness.

The change was immediate. She felt her body go stiff, her back arching up and away from the bed. Her head hummed with a thousand beads of energy ricocheting around, and her hands and knees began to twitch uncontrollably. Somehow, in all the madness, she wrested back control of her mouth, although she could feel her own body fighting back as she forced out the words:

"Help…dark side…such…darkness…"

Her jaw clenched. The control was gone. As if a punishment for her resistance to the fire that was consuming her body, the intensity of her torment increased, consuming her and corroding her veins at an ever-increasing speed. The fibers that held together her tranquility were snapping. A strange new sensation began to sear through her. She felt invincible; every breath was fire with which she could scorch the universe beneath her feet. She wanted to laugh and scream in ecstatic triumph at the same time. It tasted like the blood spilt on a battlefield of eons.

Her chains were broken.

* * *

A loud, metallic sound filled the room, and Quinn reluctantly tore his eyes from Jaesa's convulsing form. Everything in the room had begun to shudder. Lightning danced across the walls in arcs. He jumped back in alarm as a metal shelf on the wall beside him crumpled like paper, spilling its contents to the floor; the glass syringes exploded before they hit the ground. Quinn threw up his hands to protect his face from an onslaught of tiny glass shards that covered his hands in a web of scratches. He lowered his arms seconds later, just in time to see another shelf warp and collapse. He snatched a falling tranquilizer before it could fall.

"Lieutenant! Vette! 2V!" he shouted. "Get in here and help!"

Vette ran to the doorway, with Pierce hovering just behind. She looked at Quinn in alarm. "What did you do?!" she demanded.

"Not now, Vette," he said. "Just be quiet and hold her head still while the lieutenant restrains her arms and legs."

They complied. Quinn seized his opportunity and plunged the tranquilizer into Jaesa's arm before she could break free and wreak more havoc. For a moment, she turned to stare at Quinn, murder in her eyes, and then she passed out, collapsing against the bed and becoming still.

Vette stared. "What the hell was that?"

"I have no idea."

**AN: Thanks for reading! If you have any comments on the story, good or bad, just leave a review below!**


	27. Interlude

**INTERLUDE**

After unconsciously smashing open the entrance to the cave in her rage, Ishtaa soon regained enough air to breathe. Drawing on the last of her strength, she dragged herself to freedom and fulfilled the instructions of the mysterious figures, only collapsing once she had reached the safety of the base. There, the mysterious figures treated her, and awaited her return to consciousness.

Meanwhile, unsure of what had set off Jaesa's fit of madness, Captain Quinn did not attempt to revive her a second time, instead allowing her to rest until her body recovered on its own time. Left with only the knowledge of Darth Baras' betrayal and the passing mention of a cave, Quinn and Vette continued to lead the crew in a frantic search for the missing Ishtaa.

In the midst of this frenzy, the _Fury _began receiving a flood of holocalls from Moff Broysc. Despite his burning wish to see Moff Broysc fall, Quinn tried to ignore the calls, burying his lust for vengeance beneath his desire to find Ishtaa alive and return to her side. However, it soon became clear that Broysc would not stop calling until Quinn answered personally. With Jaesa unconscious, Quinn was forced to rely on Vette—wearing Ishtaa's spare robes and helmet—to provide backup and pose as his missing superior officer. Broysc proceeded to spew nonsense and verbally abuse Quinn or, as he called him, "Admiral Malcontent." Quinn became infuriated, the embers of his hatred for the man stirred by the encounter. The intensity of his venom became so great that even Vette dared not tease him regarding his promotion to "Admiral" for fear that might lash out.

In his despair over Ishtaa's disappearance and seething frustration at his inability to stop Moff Broysc, Quinn began to stew, his thirst for revenge increasing with every passing moment.

His only relief came when the ship was abruptly contacted by the mysterious figures, who—after explaining their role as the Emperor's Hand—brought the crew to the base where Ishtaa was recovering.


	28. Chapter 28

**Quesh**

There she was. He had never seen her so serene, her face completely unperturbed by thought or feeling: cold, still, and unreadable. Stroking her cheek, he leaned in towards her face.

"Didn't lose you," he murmured. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Vette came up beside him and squeezed Ishtaa's hand. "Will she be alright?" she asked the Sith Purebloods.

One of them steepled his fingers. "The smolders," he said in a thin voice, "will become a blaze."

The other one nodded. "Your master will recover in time," he translated, seeing Vette's face. "But I advise you to remain wary," he added somberly. "The Wrath is newly fledged, and will be fragile for some time. Be cautious, and until you know what she is capable of, choose your enemies wisely."

"The flames cannot be predicted."

Vette elbowed Quinn. "These guys are weird," she muttered.

He didn't answer. He was stuck in a blank haze, the first moment of peace he had felt since Ovech had dropped the bombshell on him about Druckenwell; he just stood there for a long time, weaving his fingers through her hair mindlessly. She was back.

**AN: Thanks for reading! Reviews, follows, favorites, and carrier pigeons are always appreciated.**

**Next in "A Fool's Crime": A fragile Ishtaa is pushed to the limit, and Quinn's desire for revenge burns ever more fiercely, until they both reach their breaking point and collide.**


	29. Chapter 29

**Fury**

Jaesa closed her eyes, trying to close out the darkness that seemed to be seeping into her, pouring into the ship through nooks and crannies she was sure did not exist. But her attempt was in vain. It didn't matter how tightly she shielded herself. The darkness was in her mind.

She was startled by a _blort _from the door. In her frantic attempts to escape the residual darkness, she had stifled her senses; the Talz's arrival took her completely by surprise.

"Broonmark!" she said, turning. "I didn't notice you."

He gurgled in reply. He asked if she wanted to practice fighting with him.

She smiled a little sadly. "Not today, Broonmark."

He tilted his head at her. Then, his voice rising, he asked her if 'Sith cub' was feeling sick.

She laughed. "No, I'm not sick or injured. I just don't feel like fighting today, that's all." The lie twisted in her throat. The only thing she wanted to _do_ was fight; to slash, to slaughter, to kill. It scared her.

To make matters worse, Pierce had followed Broonmark to the door of her quarters. Jaesa had been on edge around him for weeks, since he overheard her conversation with Ishtaa; the man might not be a scholar, but he wasn't stupid, and he was certainly smart enough to understand that a light-sided Sith was not only unusual, it was tantamount to treason.

She hurried to amend her posture and tone of voice. "It is not enough to simply fight," she said, ducking her head to imitate the hooded eyes of a corrupted Sith. "I need to savor it fully, relishing in the agony and the spilt blood of my enemies. Since I can't actually kill you, I need to meditate on the power of the dark side first…to regain the satisfaction I lose from fighting without killing."

Broonmark gurgled in a put-out sort of way, but he didn't push the matter.

Pierce, who had been standing by the doorway in silence, finally spoke. "C'mon, Broon," he said. "Go get the practice weapons ready. I'll go fight with you in a few minutes. It's been a while since I had a proper fight. My trigger finger's getting tense."

Broonmark nodded. Relieved, Jaesa returned to her meditation. Her fright at seeing Pierce had intensified the darkness, to the point where it had almost turned into a physical ache.

A minute into her meditation, Jaesa started growing frustrated. The darkness was not subsiding. She opened her eyes with a sigh—and realized that Pierce was still standing in the doorway. She narrowed her eyes accordingly. "Is there a reason you're staring at me, Imperial?" she sneered.

He rolled his eyes. "C'mon, love," he said, "you can drop the act."

Jaesa paled. He knew. She should have known that her cover-up the other day hadn't fooled him. She hoped against hope that she was wrong. This could jeopardize her entire mission. Scrambling to hide her mistake, she put on the fiercest face she could muster. "How dare you?" she said. "I'll teach you to insult a Sith," she said, trying to look as tall as possible. "By the sands of Korriban, I swear I'll…I'll…"

Pierce crossed his arms impatiently. "What, throw pillows at me?

Jaesa shrank back to her usual posture, her shoulders slumping slightly. "How did you know?" she asked in a small voice.

Pierce snorted. "I think the better question is how could I not know," he said. "No offense, pet, but I've seen baby tauntauns scarier than you." Jaesa trembled, her eyes wide and tearful. Pierce leaned against the wall. "Relax," he said, sounding bored. "I'm not going to rat you out."

Jaesa went weak with relief. "You're not?"

To her astonishment, Pierce started to laugh. "C'mon," he said. "Do I look like Captain Ponce to you? I don't give a womp rat's arse about Sith politics. To be completely honest, it's nice to have a Sith in charge who doesn't fry people for the hell of it. S'long as she lets me fight and don't piss off the Dark Council too bad, makes no difference to me if she's dark or light."

She instinctively threw her arms around him—or at least, as far as her small arms would reach around the man's enormous frame. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he said gruffly. Extricating himself from the hug, he added: "Seriously, don't. Last thing I need's people saying I've gone soft."

"I won't," she promised.

Pierce nodded. "Good," he said. "And one more thing: you probably shouldn't go around telling people you and Ishtaa are recruiting. I might not care. But I don't expect the Sith will be quite so understanding."

Jaesa smiled. "I'll bear that in mind. Thank you again."

He grunted. "I'd better go join Broonmark before he starts using 2V as a training dummy again. As much as I'd love to have that thing shut up, I don't much fancy having to fix him."

"Alright, I'll see you around."

Pierce bobbed his head and left.

Jaesa smiled as she watched him leave. Sometimes light could be found in the most unusual of places.

* * *

Ishtaa sighed as she returned to the ship, pausing to brace herself against the hull. She had a gash in her side, a cut on her forehead, and more bruises than she cared to count, but she was alive. More importantly, her enemies were dead; she had slain them all, cutting down anyone who dared to stand in her way.

She stopped again when she had reached the door of the ship, this time more out of annoyance than exhaustion: something was touching her lip. She swiped across her lips with the tips of her fingers to find the annoyance. They came away red and sticky.

She was just about to look in the nearest reflective surface—was it her blood from the cut on her forehead, or the blood of her enemies?—when she heard a noise behind her. She flew into a battle stance and raised her saber to strike.

Vette threw her hands up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ishtaa shushed her. Vette complied, but stared at Ishtaa's lightsaber uneasily. "It's me," she hissed. "Can you please put that thing away?"

With a pang of reluctance, Ishtaa put her saber away. She had been primed for the thrill of battle; to have it snatched from her grasp left her edgy and craving more. She tried to swallow the bitter taste in her mouth.

"Jeez," whispered Vette exasperatedly. She crossed her arms. "Where were you anyway?"

Ishtaa scowled. "I told you. I had business to attend to."

"All day?"

"That's _my_ business." She was in no mood for conversation. Nodding her head at Vette brusquely, she made her way towards her quarters.

Vette stopped her with a gasp. "Oh my stars, what happened to your face?" Ishtaa tensed as Vette grabbed her upper arm to spin her around. The Twi'lek looked Ishtaa up and down with a horrified expression, seeing her properly for the first time now that she had stepped out of the shadows and under the auxiliary light. "You look like a rancor chewed you up and spat you out."

Ishtaa yanked out of Vette's unguarded grip with ease. She curled her lip. "You don't look too bad yourself," she said in a monotone. "Good night."

"Oh, no you don't." Vette stopped her again.

Ishtaa gave Vette a dark look. "Let go of my arm," she said quietly.

"No way," said Vette, "I'm going to wake Quinn. You need a doctor."

"My injuries are my fault and my responsibility. Let go of my arm."

"What has gotten into you?" Vette asked. "First you refuse to let any of us come with you and help, then you refuse to let Quinn heal you?"

Ishtaa broke free and Force-gripped her arm. Vette cringed, eyes widening as Ishtaa's hold began to leave darkened patches on her skin.

"Ouch—Ishtaa, what are you doing?!"

She bared her teeth. "I said," she growled, "let go of my arm."

"_Ishtaa_."

Ishtaa released her grip as if she had been scalded. Vette's mouth was moving, Ishtaa could see that, but the words didn't match up with the sounds she was hearing, nor was the voice Vette's. The sound didn't even seem to be coming from an external source: it was coming from her head. She could feel it, something _other_ pressing against the inside of her skull. She had only felt a voice like this once before: the voice in the cave, the sourceless sound that had awoken her.

"Ishtaa!"

This time it _was _Vette's voice. She could scarcely hear her, individual sounds muddled by a thick, distorted sound as if she were surfacing from deep water. She also got the impression that Vette had been trying to talk to her for a few seconds.

"Hey," she said, tilting her head, "you okay? You went all Sith-y for a minute there, but now you just look sick." Her hand twitched as if she were resisting the impulse to reach out and touch Ishtaa's arm. "You sure you don't need some kolto?"

Ishtaa rubbed her temples. She suddenly felt very tired now that her anger had lessened. "My wounds are a lesson," she said hoarsely. "If I don't learn to cope with my weakness, I'll never…" She swallowed. "I'll never be strong enough."

"Strong enough? To what? Beat Baras?"

She didn't answer.

Vette kept her face and posture defensive, but her concern bled through. "You don't have to do this alone."

Ishtaa's scowl returned as abruptly as it had faded. "I don't need your help."

"No, you don't _need_ it, but it'd sure make things a hell of a lot easier," Vette snapped.

Ishtaa struck the wall with the flat of her palm. "This isn't about what's easy."

"What is it about, then? Why are you doing this? Deliberately making things hard on yourself, working yourself to the bone, shutting all of us out—"

"I HAVE TO DO THIS, VETTE!" She regretted shouting as soon as she had done it. Embarrassed, she ducked her head aside. "I have to. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Vette gave a bitter laugh halfway between a scoff and a breath. "Yeah? Well, you're right about that," she said. "I don't understand." She turned to leave, shaking her head. "I'm going to bed. Let me know if you decide to start acting like a human being."

Ishtaa let her leave, her passions churning and mingling with the blood streaked across her face.

* * *

Quinn couldn't sleep. Imperial High Command had finally responded to his requests to have Moff Broysc dealt with. They had refused. He had retired early after reading the transmission; he was too angry to think straight. A good night's sleep, he had told himself in an attempt to remain calm, and then tomorrow morning you can decide what to do about Broysc. But he had failed to account for what he was capable of, and falling asleep in his current state had proved impossible. The hours slipped past with Quinn tossing and turning in his bed—first one way then the other, trying every configuration of pillow, sheet, and blanket imaginable.

Not for the first time that night—or morning, rather; he remembered that 'tomorrow morning' had technically arrived a few hours ago—he had to refrain from growling into the darkness of his quarters. Broysc. The arrogant, self-serving, disloyal bastard. No, he corrected himself, that would be an insult to bastards. The man…the thing was a disgrace to the Imperial military. No, he was worse; he was a disgrace to the galaxy, the lowest of low, the essence of filth. Quinn would rather die at the hands of the Republic than serve Moff Broysc ever again. Damn it all, he would rather serve the Republic, if it meant he could ruin Broysc. At least the Republic—wretched as they might be—at least they fought for something. A hypocritical, backstabbing something with no sense of order or integrity, but something. Broysc was a child, the worst sort of child without any of the redeeming qualities: vicious, obnoxious, and aimlessly tyrannical.

He finally disentangled himself from the sheets and sat up, flinging his pillow away. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back hunched over, his fingers knotted into a blanket. It was no wonder that he couldn't sleep. The trappings of his bed were a dull replacement for what he really craved: a body to hold and press against him, hands to clutch at his back and tear apart the knotted muscles, to provide him some relief from his unbearable tension. He wanted to bury himself and tear himself apart, and hope that when he was put back together everything would be right.

He glowered at the wall. She was right there, just across the hall. He could hear the siren song through the soundproof walls, beckoning him to give in and release everything he had pent up.

No, he told himself firmly. She was forbidden to him. There were protocols.

Protocol, he repeated to himself angrily. It was always protocol, wasn't it, getting in the way of success? It wasn't enough to expect men to discipline themselves, was it? There always had to be red tape in the way, mucking things up, encouraging the complacent and the ordinary while crushing greatness into the dust.

On Balmorra, ensuring that mediocre officers kept their comfortable salaries while soldiers with ideas and courage were denied aid and reinforcements.

Here, keeping his feelings for Ishtaa a secret when he wanted the whole galaxy to know that she was more than his lord, making do with brushed fingertips and stolen kisses when he wanted to show her how he felt in the fullest sense, doing—no, even now, in the privacy of his room, he dared not go down that road. Which left…

Druckenwell…

He stood up suddenly, his jaw set. Something had changed within him. He had a distinct feeling of weight in his chest, but it no longer weighed him down, tensing into a pit in his stomach; instead it pulled him forward, as if a magnet or a tether were drawing him towards his destination.

It wasn't a decision. No, that would imply a choice, an argument with pros and cons, considered and weighed with much consideration. This was certainty—the revolution of moons and stars, the passing of time, the pull of a trigger.

He would kill Moff Broysc.

**AN: They didn't collide quite yet. Sorry, I needed to stretch this out. I want the, uh, "collision" to work perfectly, for plot reasons.  
**

**Also, quick poll of readers: how many of you would be interested in seeing this story stretched out into a trilogy? Because I have stories in mind, an arc, everything, but I don't want to exert the effort if I'm the only one who's going to read it.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading! Reviews are love!**


	30. Chapter 30

**Fury**

The moment Ishtaa had closed the door behind her, she felt changed. The solitude washed over her like a basin of cold water, cleansing her and jarring her with a burst of clarity that was too sharp to be pleasant; it stung.

She should apologize. She could see that now. Vette had done nothing wrong. If anything, she'd been trying to help. So often, she looked at Vette as a child, a consequence of their slight age gap which was not helped by the Twi'lek's girly voice, wide eyes, or fondness for pranks. But beneath that cheery blue exterior, Vette was wise beyond her 18 years, and possessed a maturity for which she was too rarely given credit.

It was Ishtaa who was acting like a child. She sat down as the pain came on in full force, no longer restrained by adrenaline or filtered by her hate. Her stomach knotted, whether from shame or from the pain she couldn't be sure.

_I really should apologize to Vette._

_And say what? "Hello, Vette. I'm sorry I keep turning into a psychotic mess and threatening to go on a homicidal rampage. I'm sorry that my whole world, everything I believed in unraveled in a single sentence, and now I'm—"_

_No. _

Ishtaa rose from the bed and opened her eyes in one explosive movement. No. She was _not_ unraveling. She wouldn't give Baras the satisfaction. She was going to stand tall and proud and alone, and she was going to watch him fall at her hand if it was the last thing she ever did, no matter what the cost.

_No. No, I can't. That's exactly what Baras would want me to do. I have to be strong. I can't give in._

_But you've already given in. You've broken. Look at the blood on your hands, the change in your heart. It's too late. You've already given yourself to cowardice. _

_No… _Her head was pounding now, each throb a painful reminder of her the wounds she had suffered in battle and in the cave. _No, I have not. I am not a coward. I am strong._

_You are weak. Just like your father was, betrayed by his master before he could betray the master himself._

She gripped the dresser with a shaking arm, struggling to remain standing as her slick palms skidded, threatening to give way to her aching legs. _No. No._

_Just like your mother was._

_He won't win. _The voice in her head was pleading, frail like a child's. _He'll never win. I won't let him. _

_Weak. _The word filled her head, shrieking and growing until its shrill-toned chorus was all she could hear. _Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak._

"I WON'T LET HIM."

She came to on the floor, gasping for breath. She felt like hell—her skin clammy, bile still stinging the back of her throat—but the darkness in her head had pushed too hard. It was gone, for now. The world around her surged back into being, her normal sensations returning.

A presence intruded on her thoughts.

_Quinn. _

She reached for a robe without thinking, pulling it over her tunic mechanically. Quinn was exactly what she needed right now. His presence would be a relief from the wreckage smoldering in her mind.

* * *

"Qui—" Crossing the threshold into the cockpit was like walking into the sea; the waves which had looked so sweet and cool from a distance proving hard and treacherous in the flesh, battering her with an unexpected brutality. She breathed in sharply. His eyes were shining and his posture, far from the straight, unyielding stance of protocol, was explosive, hunched with wound-up tension that was a feather's breath from lashing out.

Ishtaa found that her fingers had been ghosting over the arc of Quinn's shoulders from across the room. She snapped her arm back to her side and cleared her throat. "Captain, do you have news? How have your efforts with Imperial High Command gone?"

"Not well, my lord." Ishtaa shivered. Something was wrong. Quinn's voice had gone dark, possessed by a dark, gravelly tone that she had never heard him use before. If she didn't like it so much, she might have been scared. "I've gone as far up the chain of command as I can go," he said; the professional voice strained to regain control, but it was losing ground, giving way to the dark with every word. "No one is willing to confront him." Quinn raised his chin. "I've let this go on long enough. Ishtaa could tell by the shake in Quinn's hand that he was fighting to remain calm, but he was failing. His eyes, already alive with determination, shone with tears of fury. "I must deal with Broysc myself, once and for all."

She swallowed and nodded. "This is your calling, Quinn. Get to it."

He hesitated. For the briefest instant she could feel him racked with uncertainty, apology, longing, and fear mingling in equal parts as they flashed across his face. His hand found its way to her jaw, cupping her chin.

As suddenly as it had started, the spell was broken. Yanking his hand away, he clicked his heels. "My lord." And then he left, straightening his coat as he went, leaving Ishtaa dizzy from the surge of feeling.

**AN: Sorry for the long delay, I'm having a really hard time writing this part. As such, there will be more coming as soon as I can make myself write it. (And yes, they will EVENTUALLY collide. I'm just having trouble with writing it.)**


End file.
